See What I've Become
by SilverWolf3313
Summary: On the Night of Owls, Batman and his allies are in for the fight of their lives. Once the smoke clears, it becomes clear that Nightwing is missing. Nearly a year after Dick's disappearance, a new villain appears, and he may have clues about Nightwing's whereabouts. However, Batman will have to watch his back, for this new villain has set his sights on Batman and his family.
1. The Night of Owls Begins

**AN: Hi, everybody! Thanks for giving my story a chance! I would love any reviews and comments! Feel free to PM if you have any questions, or want to give me any pointers!**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own DC, or any of its characters. This chapter, along with future chapters, will have dialogue from the New 52 Nightwing (and possibly Batman) comic books. BEWARE OF SPOILERS IF YOU HAVE NOT READ THE NIGHT OF OWLS ARC!**

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"Beware the Court of Owls,  
that watches all the time,  
ruling Gotham from a shadow perch,  
behind granite and lime.  
They watch you at your hearth,  
they watch you in your bed,  
speak not a whispered word of them or they'll send a Talon for your head."

 **Gotham City  
7:35 P.M.  
** ** _The Night of Owls_**

 ** _'God damn you, Bruce,'_** Nightwing thought as he stood on the edge of a building. The lights from the streets and buildings softly illuminated the hero's face, laying shadows across his left cheek. Although his face was devoid of emotion, his inner thoughts betrayed his true feelings.

The past few days had been absolute hell. The return of Raymond, the attack on the circus, the fiasco with Raya, and William Cobb, his great-grandfather, a Talon, was in the Batcave. ' ** _Just another day in the life of a Bat._** _'_ Dick chuckled humorlessly. Gritting his teeth, he shot a line towards another building and leaped off the roof. As the air rushed in his face, his bruised cheek was soothed by the night air. He allowed his mind to travel back to his conversation with Bruce in the cave.

His cheeks flamed with anger as he remembered how Bruce had struck him, knocking loose the filling, proving to him that he had once been destined to be a Talon. Although he had been surprised initially, he quickly accepted this, and was determined not to let this faze him. No matter his past, he had chosen to become Robin, then Nightwing, not a Talon. The past did not matter; it was only the present he was focused on.

He was currently on his way to the GCPD to look at some evidence. Apparently, one of his escrima sticks had been found at the scene of a murder. Just another thing he needed to add to his plate. ' ** _This week has officially sucked.'_** Weightlessness overtook his body, the air rushing through his hair. This was the only time when the world melted away, stripping away the stress, the anger, and the fear, leaving only blissful peace. Dick wished it would never disappear.

A few minutes later, he landed on the roof of the GPCD. Moving silently, Nightwing entered the building via a concealed grate. Since he and Bruce had entered the building so many times in the past, the building layout had been committed to memory. He crawled through the ventilation, and dropped silently into the evidence room. Scanning the boxes, he perused the shelves until he found the correct case number.

 ** _'Why hasn't this whole ordeal hit the media yet, like with the Rossini case?_** _'_ Nightwing thought to himself as he examined the evidence. However, as he about to delve deeper into the box, his earpiece chirped.

 **Incoming transmission from Alfred Pennyworth.**

Alfred's voice was clear and sharp in his ear. _To all allies of the Bat presently in Gotham...I send this with the greatest urgency. Tonight, the Court of Owls has sent their assassins to kill nearly forty people across the city._

 ** _'What?'_**

 _I have uploaded a list of the target's names here._

In Dick's right eye, he could see the names scrolling. _Jeremiah Arkham, Mayor Sebastian Hardy..._

 _The Court's assassins, the "Talons," are already en route to their targets. They are highly trained killers with extraordinary regenerative abilities. For many of their targets, I fear it may be too late-_

 _I will keep the *_ **BANG BANG*** _keep the line to the cave open as long as I can manage._

Hearing the loud noises in his ear, Dick felt a twinge of fear prick his heart. Knowing that the murder case would have to wait, he shoved the box back on the shelf. "Alfred-I'm at the GCPD now, but this place is Fort Knox compared to City Hall. Commissioner Gordon has an army with him here." Nightwing had scrambled out of the building, and was already swinging through the air. "I can get to Mayor Hardy in five minutes-let's pray that's fast enough!"

Unbeknownst to Nightwing, he was not the only one on the hunt tonight. A mysterious man watched as the hero emerged from the GCPD and shot a line across the street. As he jumped off the edge, the man melted into the shadows, waiting for his moment to strike.

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 **AN: And that is the first chapter! Hope you enjoyed it! Until next time!**


	2. Talon at City Hall

**AN: Welcome back! I have to say, I'm having a blast writing this, and I'm glad to see that some are enjoying this so far! A few notes:**

 **1\. If there is any confusion, Nightwing's thoughts are bold, italicized, and have only one apostrophe around them.**

 **2\. I switched between Dick and Nightwing, just because it gets monotonous, seeing Nightwing in every sentence. I tried to spice it up a bit.**

 **That's it for now! Any concerns, questions, ideas, feel free to PM me! Leave a review of you want more! NOW, ON WITH THE CHAPTER!**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own DC or any of its characters (but I wish I did).**

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 ** _'Come on, come on! Faster!'_** Nightwing's body was buzzing with adrenaline, itching to enter a fight. One of the many large window in City Hall appeared before him. He drew his knees close to his chest, and tightened his legs. Just as he hit the glass, he relaxed, allowing his momentum, along with his weight, to shatter the glass. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught glimpses of blood and gore staining the floors. **_'Dammit, I'm too late.'  
_**  
He felt the Talon's body hit his feet, and the man went flying across the room. In the quick seconds that passed, Dick could see that Councilman Davis, along with three security guards had already been killed. He was pulled back to the matter at hand when the Talon's raspy voice echoed in the room. "Well, well, well...What do we have here?"

The Talon, having regained his composure, raced towards Nightwing, his left fist swinging in an arc towards his opponent's face. "The Bat's little birdie come out to **play** with the owls? How **fun** for me."

Dick internally rolled his eyes. "Sorry-not quite," he said, dodging the punch. As he ducked down, he kicked his feet out, hearing the sharp 'kraaak' as he kick-snapped the tendons in the Talon's knees.

The Talon began to laugh, "You **must** play harder than **that** , Little Birdie."

 ** _'What?! Regeneration takes time-he shouldn't be able to-'_** the hero thought as the Talon popped his knees back into place.

" **I** play **much** harder," the Talon taunted, rising once again.

 ** _'Shit.'_**

Nightwing backed away from the immortal enemy, and turned his focus to Mayor Harding.

"What-what is that **thing?!** Mayor Hardy shrieked, as Nightwing began to usher them out of the room.

"They call it a **Talon** -he's an assassin for the Court of Owls, here to kill you!" Dick answered, trying to move the men out of harm's way.

"The court?! But that's a fairy tale! They're not real!" the Mayor shouted, trying to wrap his mind around the situation. Dick sighed in annoyance, peering over his shoulder to see the assassin approaching.

"Really? You want to argue about that **now?** " Dick questioned as he ran up the wall to avoid the Talon's sword. "Just keep moving!"

"Yes, run, run away, Little Birdie! Run, run-" The Talon's jeers were cut short as Nightwing delivered a vicious face kick, knocking the man back.

 ** _'I need to get the Mayor out. By distracting the Talon, I can buy enough time, hopefully making sure that no one else will die here today.'_** Dick picked up one of the Talon's discarded swords and took a defensive stance. **_'No matter what it takes.'_**

Nightwing bared his teeth in an angry grimace. "So...where were we?"

"Oh, you want to challenge **me** to a sword fight? Is that it?" The Talon asked, his voice holding a mocking tone. "I've been trained by the best fighters on the planet." At that, the assassin swung his sword towards Nightwing's head.

Dick smiled as he blocked the blow, holding the swords in place. "Good. So have I," he breathed, breaking free from the locked swords. In a split second, he slashed the Talon's left bicep, breaking the armor and leaving a deep wound. Unfortunately, the Talon thrust his sword forward, giving Nightwing a similar wound on his left arm.

Dick yelped in pain, and kicked his leg up, catching the Talon square in the jaw. As the Talon was momentarily distracted, Dick lowered his sword, and charged the assassin. The Talon tried to bring his sword down, but was too late. Dick drove the sword straight into the Talon's center of mass, lifting him off the ground.

"*Hrk.* You're good," the Talon gasped. As Dick buried his sword deeper into his opponent's chest, the Talon raised his sword once again. "But not nearly good enough!" he shrieked, slicing his blade across the right side of Dick's face.

"Gah!" Dick yelled, losing his hold on his sword.

"Very disappointing, Little Birdie," the Talon taunted, looming over Nightwing. Dick peered at the man above him, his sword still embedded in the assassin's chest. His face throbbed, blood staining his vision red. "Very disappointing indeed." The Talon raised his sword above his head, poised for the killing blow.

"Well, what can I say," Dick replied, reaching towards the floor. "I guess I'm no owl." In one singular motion, he picked up one of his discarded escrima sticks and jabbed it into the Talon's right eye. The Talon screamed, and fell back onto the floor. He did not rise again.

Dick groaned as he rose to his feet, holding his arm, blood running onto the floor. "Yeah...let's see you regenerate around **that,"** he breathed, feeling a brief sense of relief fill his chest. It was quickly squashed when he realized that the night was still young, and there were more Talons out there. Rolling his eyes, he bent over, and picked the assassin off of the floor. He slung him over his shoulder, and walked back over to Mayor Hardy and Deputy Mayor Kavanaugh were waiting.

Both of the men's eyes widened in amazement. "You killed him?" Kavanaugh asked, a twinge of fear entering his voice.

"He was already dead. The stick's just preventing his healing factor from kicking in," Nightwing replied. He strode over to the door, and kicked it open. "Still, we should hurry up and-" Unfortunately, Nightwing was cut off as something struck him in the shoulder, causing him to drop the Talon. As he sank to the floor, three more knives embedded themselves in his chest, allowing small rivers of blood to flow. "No..." Nightwing whispered, dread filling his chest.

He glanced up, and confirmed his fears. Standing before him, holding throwing knives in his hand, was his great-grandfather, William Cobb, Talon for the Court of Owls.

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 **AN: Thank you so much for reading and reviewing! Until next time!**


	3. Cobb vs Grayson

**AN: I just wanted to give my thanks to Kyle Higgins, Eddy Barrows, and all of the other people who helped to make the second Nightwing book. I have been using some of the dialogue from the book, but I am only using it for the first three chapters. So I've giving credit where it's due, because the last thing I wanna do is be accused of plagiarism. So, ON WITH THE CHAPTER!**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own DC or any of its characters, or much of the dialogue in the first three chapters.**

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 **Gotham City Hall  
8:22 P.M.  
** ** _The Night of Owls_**

 **'Dammit. Cobb should be back in the cave, strapped to a table, with his system pumped full of a cooling agent to keep his regenerative abilities in check.'** A feeling of fear flitted into Dick's chest. **_'If he's here now, it means Batman has lost the Batcave. Or-'_** Dick shook his head, dispersing the thoughts. Deep down, he knew that Bruce wouldn't go down easily. He knew that Bruce could hold his own. Right now, he had to worry about the people he had sworn to protect.

"Mayor Hardy... Deputy Mayor Kavanaugh..does City Hall have a panic room?" he asked, his eyes never leaving Cobb.

"I don't...I'm not..." Hardy stammered.

"The fourth floor-there's a vault!" Kavanaugh replied, sweat running down his face.

Dick breathed in relief. Shakily, he got to his feet and looked Cobb in the eyes. "Go lock yourselves inside-" he growled. "And don't open it for anyone!" he yelled as he tackled Cobb, the sound of breaking glass filling their ears. As the owl and bird fell from the window, Dick could hear his great-grandfather speaking to him. "Richard Grayson-the Great Betrayer of Gotham's heritage. My blood. My heir." His voice was full of contempt.

During the fall, he had managed to wrap a hand around the young ebony's throat. "Such a waste."

"Guess...we'll have to agree...to disagree there," Dick replied, struggling to breathe. He slowly raised his hand, ready to engage his rope launcher. Cobb was oblivious, too focused on the man below him.

"Then show me, Richard-show me what you've become. Impress me."

 ** _'Oh, I'll impress you, alright,'_** Dick thought as he fired his line. Hearing the telltale _thunk_ as the launcher found its mark, Dick began to prep his body for a rough landing. Spreading his legs, he used his momentum to swing himself and Cobb towards the ground. As they neared the street, Dick used his strength to dislodge Cobb from his throat, and let Cobb fall onto the roof of a car. There was a loud _CRASH_ and an alarm began to blare.

Once he had lost the extra weight, Dick straightened his legs, readying himself. The second he felt his feet touch snowy pavement, he bent his legs, trying to slow his momentum. Unfortunately, his aching body, paired with the slippery ground, resulted in Nightwing losing his balance, and tumbling painfully across the road. He finally stopped when he hit a wall, expelling the air from his chest.

 ** _'Ow...'_** Dick thought as he slowly began to pick himself up.

A loud cracking sound filled his ears. He turned towards the source, his insides turning into ice. The broken body of Cobb had risen, his limbs at awkward angles, grotesquely walking towards him. "Broken bones...for someone...who regenerates?" Cobb's cruel voice called, reverberating through the street. With each step, Cobb's bones were reset with a sickening crunch. "I said...impress me," Cobb taunted, standing at his full height once again.

As Dick began to stand, he reached back, and grabbed one of his escrima sticks. "There is a reason the Court woke me first, you know," Cobb rasped, sliding a large dagger out of its sheath. "A reason they trust me."

 ** _'Does this guy ever shut up?'_** Dick asked himself. **_'Maybe that's where I got my blabbermouth from.'_**

"I am the **best** , Richard-the greatest Talon of them all," he bragged. Taking his chance, Dick sprung forward, escrima stick in hand. "And last I checked, Batman beat you and put you on ice, so what's that say-" He was unable to finish his quip, for Cobb blocked Dick's blow with his dagger, slicing Dick's wrist open. As he cried out in pain, his escrima stick fell to the ground, sticking in the snow.

Nightwing cradled his wrist, feeling the pain throb in tandem with the blood gushing from the wound. "Yes-I rather enjoyed my time in his little "cave." Tell me-did it hurt when he hit you? When he rejected you?"

"You could see us...?" Dick whispered, his mind whirling with thoughts and emotions.

"Of course I could," Cobb stated, matter-of-factly. "Just as I could see all the little toys you both think allow you to make a difference in Gotham."

Dick glanced over to his right, and saw the stairs to the subway. **_'That's it,_** he thought to himself, turning his attention back to Cobb. The assassin was slowly advancing, like a predator that had cornered its prey. "All the gadgets and costumes you delude yourselves with," he spat, venom lacing his voice. "But most of all, I could see what you've become, Richard-a second rate imitation of a naïve man. It's pathetic for a Grayson."

 ** _'He's not going to stop until he kills me,'_** Dick realized, mind racing to come up with a plan. He aimed his arm at the nearest building and fired his line once again. "Tell you what," he began, waiting as Cobb charged. "Why don't you tell me what you see from up there?" At the last second, he wrapped the line around Cobb's throat, and disengaged the rope from his wrist. The makeshift noose hoisted Cobb into the air, the assassin hanging like bait on a hook.

 ** _'I can't beat him like this. I've lost too much blood...need to regroup...before I...'_** Dick thought as he stumbled towards the stairs. As he placed his foot on the first step, his vision swirled, distorting the world around him. **_'Before...'_** As that thought crossed his mind, he lost his hold on reality, tumbling down the stairs, unconscious.

The blood from his many wounds began to pool beneath the ebony, his suit torn, and a throwing knife still embedded in his shoulder. Suddenly, Cobb reappeared, looking down on his descendant. "It that it then, Richard? Is that truly all you are?" **(AN: From here on out, this is all my work, not Higgins' or Barrows').** He reached down towards the hero, but stopped as he heard footsteps approaching. He whirled around, and saw a man clothed in an orange and black outfit. He had a menagerie of weapons, such as two pistols strapped to his legs, and a pair of swords strapped to his back. Covering his face was a mask, split into orange and black. The black side had no eye hole, which made the man even more menacing.

"Who are you?" Cobb questioned, reaching for his dagger.

"No one of your concern. Now, excuse me. I have business with the _hero_ at your feet," the man replied, never moving. His deep voice echoed in the stairway, making it more intimidating.

"Richard is my mission. You have no right-" Cobb began, but was cut short when he felt the pain of a sword pierce his chest. He looked up at the strange man, who had somehow reached him at an impossible speed. As Cobb was getting over his surprise, the strange man spoke in a dangerously low voice. "Shame. I thought a Talon would have been more of a challenge."

Before Cobb could reply, the man palmed one of the daggers at his side, and plunged it into Cobb's temple. Without another word, he withdrew the sword from Cobb's chest, and watched as the Talon fell to the snowy ground. Cobb lay motionless, the dagger protruding from his head, blood slowly oozing from the wound.

"Tt," the man grumbled, and wiped the blood from the blade onto his sleeve. Sheathing his sword, he walked over to the unconscious hero. Reaching into his pocket, he withdrew two pairs of zip ties. Working quickly and efficiently, he removed the hero's gauntlets, boots, and earpiece.

He then tied Nightwing's hands behind his back, and tied his ankles together. The man picked up the young ebony, and slung him over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Ignoring the groan Nightwing made, he glanced at the earpiece on the ground. With a small smirk, he slammed his heel down, shattering the plastic, grinding it into the snow. Without another word, the large man began to walk down the stairs into the subway, disappearing from the street. No sound was made, the man leaving nothing but a pair of footprints, that would soon be all but gone as the snow continued to fall.

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 **AN: And the plot thickens...wonder what's gonna happen? :P  
Thanks so much for the reviews. I love seeing that you all are enjoying the story! Until next time!**


	4. The Search Begins

**AN: Hey loyal readers! This is an extra long chapter, mostly filler, explaining how Batman reacts when he realizes that Dick is missing. Also, I will be in Toronto for a while playing hockey, so I won't be cranking out chapters like I have been. Thanks so much for the support and enjoy! ON WITH THE CHAPTER!**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own DC or any of it's characters (but don't we all wish we did?)**  
 **07/24/2016: So I went back and looked at this story, and I realized that I had posted the same chapter twice. I don't know what the heck happened, but the website decided to post the chapter again. SO SO sorry!**

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 **Wayne Manor  
7:30 A.M.  
** ** _The Next Day_**

Bruce blearily blinked his eyes open. It took a little more than a moment to figure out where he was; he then realized that he was back in his bedroom. As he sat up, he groaned as his ribs complained. Placing a hand on his chest, he felt the bandages wrapped around his torso. Looking around, he noticed the light streaming into the room, casting a soft glow on the floor.

Looking over to his left, Bruce saw the alarm clock sitting on his bedside table. Its face read 7:30 A.M. Sniffing in slight annoyance, he flung the covers off of his body, and planted both feet on the floor. Groaning again as he rose, he walked into his bathroom, splashing water on his face. He snagged his robe off of its hook, and slipped it on as he headed out of his room.

As he tied the sash around his waist, his thoughts traveled back to the events of last night. The Talons had almost overwhelmed the Cave, along with Bruce and Alfred; however, they had drove back the deadly invaders, destroying many of the Talons in the process. Hopefully, that would convince the Court to rethink their animosity towards Batman.

When Bruce finally reached the kitchen, he could see Alfred at the stove, with Damian sitting at the counter. Alfred glanced over his shoulder, his eyebrows rising at the sight of Bruce. "Master Bruce, I am surprised to see you up and about so late in the day." Bruce smirked as he picked up on Alfred's subtle sarcasm.

"I apparently needed the rest. Don't worry, it won't happen again anytime soon," he replied, picking an apple from the bowl on the countertop. He held it in his hands, and watched the light reflect off of the bright red skin.

Damian gave an amused snort. "Father seems to have trouble grasping what it is 'early,' and what is 'late.'"

"It all comes down to perspective, Damian," Bruce stated, sitting down next to his son. The men grew quiet, the sound of cooking eggs the only noise in the room. After a few minutes, it was Alfred who broke the silence. "Master Bruce, did you hear from anyone after the events of last night?"

Bruce didn't reply, instead pulling out his smart phone from his pocket. Damian watched his father as Bruce unlocked the device, and scrolled through the many voicemails that awaited him. His eyes scanned the list, until he found the numbers he was looking for. Tapping the screen, he simultaneously pulled up the voicemail and putting it on speaker. **"Bruce. Glad to hear that you're still alive. Sorry I couldn't be there, but I had other things going on*. Let me know if you need help with anything."**

"Good to hear that Master Drake did not get caught up in this fiasco," Alfred said, placing a plate of eggs in front of Bruce. Bruce nodded and grunted, ignoring the eggs in front of him.

"Tt. I wouldn't exactly call it 'good,'" Damian said, sounding slightly annoyed.

"Damian," Bruce scolded. The grudge between Damian and Tim was a sensitive topic between the sons of Batman. For some reason, Damian loved to get under Tim's skin, and irritate him to no end. When he first met Tim, he had tried, and almost succeeded in killing Tim. However, as Damian slowly began to assimilate into society and learn about his feelings, his relationship with Tim had gotten somewhat better. They still would find themselves at each other's throats, but at least they weren't going to kill each other.

"What?" Damian asked, irritated.

"Leave Tim alone."

"But he's not even here," Damian whined.

"I don't care. Knock it off," Bruce growled, shutting Damian up.

Once again, Bruce selected one of the messages from the list. **"Bruce. It's Barbara. Good to hear that you're still alive. Dad's okay, though he's thoroughly pissed off. It was one hell of a night, that's for sure. Oh, I saw Jason. He says 'you're welcome' for bringing in Freeze. I don't know what you want me to do, but I'm currently keeping an eye on him. I still don't trust him. Let me know if anything happens."** The phone clicked, signaling the end of the call.

"Todd was in Gotham? That's news to me," Damian scoffed, chewing thoughtfully on his eggs.

"It was news to me too. I knew that he was off with his own group, but I didn't know that he came back," Bruce pondered aloud.

"Maybe that is a good sign, Master Bruce," Alfred offered, sounding slightly hopeful.

"Maybe," Bruce mumbled. As he continued to scan his phone, his brow furrowed. Damian noticed the change in Bruce's demeanor, and glanced at his father, slightly confused. "What is it, Father?"

"There's no message from Dick," Bruce answered, his finger moving up and down on the phone's screen.

"Well, maybe he's still sleeping. We all know that Grayson loves to laze about," Damian offered, his face a mask of disinterest.

"Possibly. But he would have checked in last night, especially after how we left things," Bruce stated, guilt sending small twinges of pain in his chest. He regretted punching Dick, but at the time, it seemed like the only way to knock some sense into his adopted son. Now, as he thought about it, he realized that it wasn't the right decision.

"Whatever the reason for not messaging us, I'm sure Master Dick has a perfectly reasonable one," Alfred reassured.

However, Bruce did not feel calmed by Alfred's words. A growing sense of unease was filling his body, his gut telling him something was off. Without a word, he shot up from his seat, leaving the plate of eggs untouched. "Master Bruce, where are you going?" Alfred called after him.

He did not reply, his bare feet silent on the carpet. Behind him, he could hear his son's footsteps, along with Alfred's, following him. Reaching the clock in his study, he activated the mechanism that opened the passage to the cave. Striding down the steps, he dismissed the small jolts of pain in his chest. Once he had reached the Batcomputer, he pulled the seat out, and sat down. "Computer, track Nightwing, authorization code 6489."

 _Running trace,_ a disembodied voice said, echoing around the cave. As the computer pinpointed Dick's location, Bruce noticed that Damian and Alfred were next to him, watching the screen. After what seemed like an eternity, the computer chimed. _Current location unknown. Last known location of Nightwing was on Third and Fifth Avenue, near the Subway station._

"That can't be right," Bruce mumbled, furiously typing.

"Maybe he shut his tracker off by accident," Alfred stated. However, his voice held a tone of doubt. Everyone in the Bat family always had their tracker on, no matter what happened. For Nightwing to have deactivated his tracker, something must have happened.

Bruce pulled up a map of Gotham, and found where the signal had disappeared. Standing up, he strode over to the container that held his suit. "Damian, get dressed," he ordered. He heard his son run over to where his suit was stored. As he pulled his cowl over his face, Damian ran up next to him, looking at his father.

Batman and Robin raced over to the Batmobile, the top hatch already open. "Master Bruce, where are you going?" Alfred called.

"To find Nightwing," Bruce called back, switching on the vehicle. With the smell of rubber on pavement, and the roaring of the engine, the Batmobile shot out of the cave, leaving Alfred standing alone, looking worriedly at the screen.

* * *

 **15 minutes later...**

As the Batmobile stopped on Third and Fifth, Batman jumped out of the car, hearing the snow crunch under his boots. A similar sound reached his ears as Damian followed him. It was still early in the morning, so the street was eerily quiet. Since the events of last night had been seen across the city, many residents decided to stay in, and not risk being caught in the crossfire.

Scanning the ground, Batman immediately noticed the small amount of red that stained the ground. It had almost disappeared underneath a layer of freshly fallen snow. Fortunately, it had stopped snowing sometime earlier in the morning, so not all of the evidence was gone. Stooping down, Batman reached into his belt and removed a swab. He took a sample of the bloody snow, and pocketed the evidence.

"Batman," Damian called. Batman turned, and walked over towards his son. He saw a discarded rope, lying in the snow. Damian bent down and picked it up. "This is one of our ropes," he said, turning the rope over in his hands.

"It's most likely Nightwing's," Batman said, taking it from Damian. Activating the scanner in his cowl, he could see the weave of the fibers, and the color of the rope. After a few seconds, he successfully concluded that it was Nightwing's. He silently gave the rope back to Damian, turning his attention back to the crime scene. With his scanner still activated, he could see a series of footprints appear, hidden to the naked eye. He followed the steps, seeing the familiar tread of Nightwing's boots among the many prints. "Nightwing was here," Batman said. "It looks like he was in a scuffle with another person, someone around his size, maybe a bit larger."

Tracing the prints, he continued to speak. "The fight continued, more blood was shed," he said, pointing to the ground. "Then, Nightwing's prints lead towards the stairs, but stop on the first step." Looking down towards the bottom of the stairs, Batman could see a pool of blood. "He must have passed out from blood loss," he concluded aloud.

"Father. You need to see this," Damian called.

"There's a new set of prints here," Batman mumbled, seeing a deep set of prints on his scanner. They were deep in the snow, suggesting that the person was large, and possibly heavy. Batman touched the side of his cowl, and took a close-up photo of the print. Once he returned to the cave, he would run it through the computer to see if it would get any hits.

"Father!" Damian called again, breaking Batman's concentration.

"What is it, Robin?" he responded, rising while turning off his scanner.

"I've found a Talon," Damian replied. Rushing over to his son, Batman could see the body of a man lying in the snow. It was apparent that he had dragged himself across the ground, but hadn't gotten very far. That was probably due to the knife sticking out of his temple.

"What the hell?" Batman said aloud.

"I don't know either. Apparently, he managed to regenerate a little before his body 'died' again," Damian responded.

Bending over, Batman inspected the handle of the knife. As he studied it, something clicked inside his mind. A cold chill ran through his blood, his heart skipping. "I've seen this knife before," Batman whispered.

"Whose is it?" Damian asked.

"Slade Wilson's. He's more commonly known as Deathstroke," Batman replied. "If he was here, nothing good could have happened." Pivoting on his heel, he turned his scanner on again and walked over to the deep prints. Following the footprints, he saw that Deathstroke had moved forward quickly. Glancing back at Cobb, he assumed that Wilson had attacked Cobb, effectively 'killing' the assassin. Continuing to follow the trail, he saw that Wilson had traveled down the stairs, where his prints temporarily disappeared.

Walking down the stairs, Bruce could see something partially buried by snow. Upon closer examination, he realized that it was a pair of discarded gauntlets and boots. The icy feeling in Bruce's bloodstream suddenly exploded, making his body completely cold. Numbly, he looked down at the ground, and noticed pieces of smashed plastic on the ground. With sickening dread, he realized that it was Nightwing's earpiece, which also doubled as one of his trackers. His boots, along with his gauntlets also contained trackers.

"Damn you, Slade!" Batman cursed, gripping Nightwing's gear between his fingers. He stalked up the stairs, hoping that there would be some sort of clue as to where Slade went; unfortunately, he was only met with fading footprints.

"So, did you find anything?" Damian asked, crossing his arms over his chest. Batman wordlessly held up Dick's gear, Damian's face morphing with surprise and confusion.

"Deathstroke has him," Batman said, answering Damian's unvoiced question. Walking over to the Batmobile, he placed the gear into the back, where there was a clean compartment. He hoped that he could gain a small clue from the gear that would lead to Wilson's location.

"What does that man want with Grayson?" Damian asked, incredulous.

"I don't know, Robin," Batman replied truthfully. Walking back over to where Cobb lay, he decided that he had gleaned everything he could from the crime scene. Bending over, he picked up the Talon, slinging his body over his shoulder. Heading back to the Batmobile, he called over his shoulder. "Come on, Robin. We have work to do."

Damian trotted over to the car, where he saw Batman place Cobb in the back of the vehicle, strapped in tightly. As he jumped into the vehicle, he glanced over at his father. "What is going to happen to Grayson?" he asked as the car vibrated as it turned on.

"Nothing good, Damian. Nothing good," Batman replied, each word sinking like a stone in his throat. As they drove back to the cave, Batman opened a channel with Red Robin and Batgirl.

"Attention Red Robin and Batgirl: Nightwing has been kidnapped by Slade Wilson, aka Deathstroke. Requesting immediate assistance. Report to Cave as soon as possible. Nightwing does not have much time. We need to find him immediately."

 **'We might be too late,'** Bruce thought to himself as they headed back to the cave. **'I won't let you down, Dick. Never again.'**

* * *

 **AN: Dun, dun, dun! All questions will be answered, I promise! In this story, the relationship between Jason and Bruce hasn't exactly healed over yet, so I'm working on the dynamic between them. Also, *Tim did not encounter any Talons, since he was busy with the Titans (I doubled checked to make sure that I wasn't wrong).*  
Please leave a review and feel free to ask questions! Until next time! **


	5. Fourteen Months Later

**AN: Hey guys! Sorry for the wait, life and sports took over! I won't be cranking out a chapter every day, but it'll be my goal to have at least one chapter out a week! Thank you so much for all your patience and support! If you want to ask any questions, or add any input, feel free to leave a review, or PM me! I'll try to get back to you ASAP! Now, ON WITH THE CHAPTER!**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own DC, blah, blah, blah, you get the gist. Nothing belongs to me.**

* * *

 **Gotham City  
8:30 P.M.  
** ** _Fourteen months later..._**

 ** _'Can't believe I came back to this rotten city,'_** Jason thought to himself. He grabbed the shot glass in front of him, and tilted his head back, downing the alcohol in one gulp. He barely flinched as the strong drink passed his lips. Looking at the bartender, he lifted his hand a few inches off the counter. The bartender nodded, and began to pour another drink.

As Jason sat at the bar, his thoughts wandered. He didn't know why, but he had woken up the other day, and decided to come back to Gotham. For some reason, he had a weird gut feeling, like he _needed_ to come back. Bruce didn't know he was here, and he wanted to keep it that way. The last thing he wanted was to be bothered by his former mentor. Their relationship had disintegrated after Jason's resurrection, especially when Jason began to take lives.

Broken from his reverie when the bartender placed a full shot glass in front of him, Jason thanked the man, and downed the drink. He licked his lips, and peered over his shoulder. He was one of the few people in the bar, since it was a Wednesday night. Clearing his throat, he reached into his leather jacket and withdrew some bills. He placed them on the counter, and stood up to leave. Barely giving a glance to the other customers in the bar, he pushed the door open, entering into the cold air.

Shoving his hands into his pockets, he began to walk down the street. Unbeknownst to Jason, on a building above him, he was being watched. The figure was of medium-build, clothed in a black suit, with an orange circle with an orange 'S' on the left side of the man's chest. His arms had orange stripes that ran down his limbs, and ending at his wrists. His mask was black and beaked at the nose. It was connected to his suit via long strips of Kevlar that protected his neck, ending at his ears. His hair was dark, and short, not even touching his ears.

"Renegade," a gruff voice in the man's ear stated. The man on the roof did not reply, merely raising a hand to accept the call. Clicking his earpiece, he sent a message to the man, letting know he was listening. Suddenly, on the man's lenses, a list of names began to appear. _Batman, Red Robin, Batgirl, Red Hood, Robin._ "You have been sent to Gotham to eliminate these targets. Someone is paying a large sum of money to see their heads on a silver platter. You know these heroes' identities. There will be no hesitation to kill them. If you fail to do so, there will consequences. They will not be pleasant."

At that, the connection was terminated, leaving the man on the roof in silence. Staring down at the man below him, he waited for the opportune time to strike.

* * *

As Jason walked down the street, he began to sense that something was off. Glancing over his shoulder, he was met with an empty street. He looked up, and saw nothing but shadows. Shaking his head, he continued on his way back to one of his safe houses. However, he still felt like he was missing something. Many years of training with a paranoid Batman had instilled a sense of precaution in Jason, and it hadn't failed him yet. Swearing under his breath, he picked up his pace, continuously watching behind him and the roofs above him.

He had just turned down an alley way when a black shadow dropped from the roof above him. However, he had been preparing for an attack, and was able to roll out of the way of a sword that would have decapitated him. Reaching into his waistband, he retrieved two handguns, released the safety, and stood in the alleyway, weapons trained on his assailant. Neither man moved as they studied each other. Jason saw that the man before him was well-toned, clearly in peak physical condition. He was in a black and orange uniform, with a circle contained an 'S.' In his right hand, he gripped a long katana, shining in the moonlight. His face was completely devoid of emotion, his mouth set in a straight line. "Who the hell are you?" Jason questioned, his eyes never leaving the man.

His opponent did not answer, remaining motionless. They stood there for a few minutes, motionless, the only sign they were alive being their breaths condensing in the cool air. Suddenly, in a split second, almost too fast to see, the black-clad man raced forward, his sword in an arc towards Jason's head. "Shit!" Jason yelled as he bent backward to avoid the blow. He let loose a few shots, forcing his assailant to retreat back. Using the wall as a springboard, the man flipped off the stone, kicking Jason in the chest. Jason went down, landing hard on his back. **_'Dammit,'_** he thought.

His assailant, seeing his quarry on the ground, sheathed his sword. Taking up a defensive stance, he waited for Jason to rise. **_'He's toying with me,'_** Jason realized. "All right, I'll play along. I'll give you a fair warning, pal. I don't fight fair." He slid his guns into his waistband, and closed his hands into fists. "Come at me," he goaded, smirking.

With speed like a striking snake, the assailant began to deliver a flurry of punches. Jason dodged many of them, managing to grab the man's arm as he went to strike Jason's face. Striking his elbow back, Jason could feel the point of his elbow hit the man square in the nose. The man stumbled back, placing a hand on his face. It came away wet with blood. Jason smiled, happy he had gotten a blow in. However, he only succeeded in pissing his opponent off. The man had a devilish look about him, the blood running down his face, staining his lips. He suddenly jumped into the air, preparing to deliver another kick. Jason was ready for him. Grabbing the man's foot before it connected with his chest, he prepared to flip the man over his shoulder.

Unfortunately, Jason realized all too late that it was a fake. The assailant twisted in his grip, using his free leg to kick Jason square in the face. Recoiling, Jason released his assailant's foot, where he felt his opponent's feet kick off his chest. As he stumbled back, the man punched Jason in his face again, and in the gut. As Jason felt the air being expelled from his body, his feet were swept out from under him, causing him to land on his back, hitting his head. He groaned, feeling the bump already forming.

As he blinked his eyes, he realized that his assailant's sword was at his throat. He dared not to move, and watched his opponent's face. His face was a mask of indifference, but Jason could see that something was struggling to break through. "What the fuck are you waiting for? Do it already!" Jason yelled, hiding the fact that he was scared shitless. There were very few people who could best him in hand-to-hand combat, and this man had done it under five minutes. Now, his life balanced on the edge of a sword.

As he waited for the dark embrace of death, he noticed that the man above him was shaking. "What? Are you not man enough to do it?" Jason jeered, knowing that he was only ensuring that he would die. The man bared his teeth in anger, the blood from his nose coloring his teeth. Still, he did not deliver the final blow. "Okay then," Jason said, swinging his left fist towards the man's head. His assailant, caught off-guard, was knocked off balance, giving Jason enough time to break free. Flipping onto his feet, he gave a vicious kick to the man's face, knocking him back. Approaching the man, he kneeled down, sitting on the man's chest, pinning him. Grabbing the black suit in his hands, he yanked the man up, and stared into the white lenses. "Who sent you?!" Jason yelled, shaking the man.

The man tried to punch Jason, but he dodged the blow, and flipped the man onto his back, twisting his arm behind him into a painful position. "I'm not going to ask again. If I don't get an answer at the count of five, your shoulder is going to be the first thing I break. One..." Jason growled. The man began to squirm, but a little pressure from Jason ceased his movements. "Two...three...four..."

Before he could reach five, however, the man twisted again in Jason's grasp, the telltale _POP!_ reaching Jason's ears. The man had dislocated his own shoulder. In his shock, Jason was knocked to the side as the man elbowed Jason in the face with his other arm. As Jason lay on the ground, dazed from the blow, he watched as his assailant leaped onto a nearby fire escape, climbing as easily as a spider monkey. He disappeared into the night as he reached the top of the stairs, leaving a bewildered Jason in the alleyway.

"What the hell was _that_ about?" he questioned aloud, groaning slightly as he stood up. He would definitely have bruises in the morning, but at least he was still alive. He gingerly felt his face, and sighed with relief when he found that his nose was not broken. However, his hand came away wet with blood. **_'We're matching,'_** Jason thought, smirking grimly. Moving sluggishly, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a phone. It had miraculously survived the brawl, and lit up when Jason turned it on. Selecting his Contacts, Jason scrolled through his list before finding the name he wanted. His finger hovered over the call button, seemingly unable to tap the screen.

Swallowing his pride, he clicked the green button, and brought the phone to his ear. It rang twice before the line clicked. Nothing was said for a few moments before the deep voice on the other end spoke. "How did you get this number?"

"Does it really matter? We need to talk."

"Talk about what?" came the gruff response.

 ** _'As precise and to the point as ever,'_** Jason thought. "I'm here in Gotham, and I was just attacked by someone. Someone really good, maybe as good as us."

There was silence on the end of the line. Then, "Where are you?"

Jason looked towards the end of the alley. "Thurmond Street."

"I'll be there in five minutes." The line clicked, the call ended.

"Yeah, nice talking to you too, asshole," Jason grumbled, pocketing his phone. He winced as he felt his nose again, trying to stop the bleeding. **_'This is going to be awesome,'_** he sarcastically thought to himself, settling in to wait for Batman to show up.

* * *

 **AN: Who is this mysterious villain? How will his** **appearance affect the Bat Family? Feel free to leave a review! Until next time!**


	6. Cruel Memory

**AN: Welcome back! Sorry for the somewhat late update. I'm thinking about having Monday be my update day, so hopefully I'll be able to stick with it. I will let you guys know if I am unavailable to post a chapter one week, and I'll try to make it up the following week, maybe by posting two chapters instead of one.  
I also wanted to say thank you to everyone for the awesome reviews and support! Thank you again for your patience! Now, ON WITH THE CHAPTER!**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own DC Comic or any of its characters, etc, etc, blah blah, blah.**

* * *

 ** _Somewhere in Gotham City  
9:00 P.M.  
A few minutes after the fight..._**

The man sprinted as fast as he could. His lungs screamed with each breath, struggling to supply his body with air. The man ignored the pain in his chest and focused on putting one foot in front of the other. **_'Keep running, don't stop. If you stop, they'll catch you,'_** he warned himself. He glanced over his shoulder, and saw no one pursuing him. Although he seemed to be safe for now, he never fully let his guard down.

The man slowed, and came to stop on the top of an apartment building. He grimaced, holding his dislocated arm close to his body. Glancing around, he saw that he was still alone. Baring his teeth in a painful smile, the man used his good arm to grab his other shoulder. Sucking in a deep breath, he slowly guided the joint back towards the socket. As the joint was slid into place, there was a almost inaudible * _pop*_ accompanying the action. The man barely stifled a scream as the pain swept through his arm. He took a few deep breaths, waiting for the discomfort to pass.

When most of the pain had subsided, he rotated his arm in a 360-degree motion, wincing slightly when he found where he was still aching. Setting his mouth in a straight line, he positioned his arm close to his body, and began to run again. Within five minutes, he had reached his safe house, hidden in the ship yard of Gotham harbor. Slipping undetected into an empty warehouse, he surveyed the interior. Satisfied, he walked into an abandoned office, and locked the door behind him.

He turned around, and somewhat relaxed. The only sign that the office was inhabited was a single sleeping bag with no pillow, and a medical kit. The man removed his gauntlets, letting the stale air hit his hands. As he flexed his fingers, he turned his hands over, studying the skin. The backs of both hands were littered with small scars, some old, and some relatively new. He turned his hands, palm facing upwards. Across both of his palms, he had a long, thin scar, which cut his hands in two. He shuddered as memories filled his mind.

He shook his head, shoving the rising past and emotions deep within himself. It was dangerous to show emotion; they made you vulnerable to your enemies, making you weak. Reaching into the medical kit, he removed a rag, and began to wipe his face. Once the dried blood had been washed off, he poured some rubbing alcohol onto the rag. Reaching once again into the kit, he withdrew a singular lighter. He stared at the silver surface, before flipping the cover, and lighting the flame. With steady hands, he held the rag over the fire, letting the cloth burn in his hands. He watched it for a while, losing himself in the dancing flame. He finally dropped the rag as the fire approached his fingers.

With the toe of his boot, he put out the burning rag. He looked at the ash pile, satisfied that any evidence of him being there eradicated with the cloth. his thoughts taking control. His blood went cold as his mind replayed the fight with Jason Todd over and over. He didn't understand why he didn't kill the target. That was the whole reason he was in Gotham- to eliminate Batman and his allies. If he even made one little mistake, there would be hell to pay.

He clamped his hands over his eyes, applying pressure. He was fighting an oncoming headache, but there was little he could do. As he ran the scenario over in his mind, his heart suddenly stopped. He had just remembered-there was a camera inside his mask. That meant that **_he_** could have been watching.

The man suddenly froze, too terrified to move. **_He_** would have seen him hesitate. **_He_** would have seen him retreat. The man was up again, pacing back and forth, his thoughts flitting too fast for him to comprehend. If **_he_** had seen the whole event...

The man steepled his fingers together. **'** ** _If he had seen the fight, then he would have instantly contacted me. He wouldn't have waited,'_** the man reassured himself. However, he couldn't diminish the feeling that he hadn't escaped punishment. **'** ** _Maybe he's waiting to see what I will do. He's hoping I'll make another mistake. He wants to see if I'll try to get away with another mistake. That will not happen.'_** _  
_  
Finally settling down on the sleeping bag, the man put on his gauntlets, and stared at the ceiling. **'** ** _Tomorrow, I will kill Batman,'_** he thought. **_'"He" can't come after me if I complete my mission quickly and efficiently.'_** He began to run multiple scenarios through his head, trying to figure out to draw out Batman. As the hours passed, the man slowly calmed, his fears subsiding. The tendrils of sleep slipped into the man's mind, trying to lure him into its dark embrace.

The man tried to fight it off, knowing what sleep brought along with it. Unfortunately, his exhausted mind and body rebelled against the man's consciousness, allowing sleep to take control.

* * *

 _He was running. Limping heavily, he favored his right leg, ignoring the pain. Bent over in half, he wrapped his arm around his ribs, self-consciously protecting his body. 'Gotta get out,' he frantically thought, turning his head, observing the area. It was dark, making it very difficult to see. He stretched his hand out, feeling the damp brick beneath his bare fingers. Leaving his hand on the wall, he used it for support, his weak body already beginning to fail him._

 _He paused, straining his ears, listening to the faint sounds echoing in the corridor. He barely breathed, hearing water drop rhythmically onto the floor. After a few moments of silence, he continued to trot, allowing his body a small reprieve from running. At the end of the wall, he felt a corner under his fingers. Turning right, he continued down the hallway. 'Can't let him catch me. If he does-'_

 _He was unable to finish his thought, for there was a loud shout behind him. "WHERE ARE YOU, BOY?! I KNOW YOU'RE OUT THERE! I WILL FIND YOU!"_

 _'Shit!' Panicking, the man began to increase his speed. 'C'mon, c'mon, how do I get out of here?'_

 _Still using the wall as a guide, he turned left at the next corner, and heard the loud sound of rushing water. A few second after the noise hit his ears, a putrid smell filled his nostrils. 'Oh god.' He put a hand over his nose, trying to block the smell. 'I'm in the sewers,' he realized. 'That means...'_

 _Loud, thundering footsteps began to approach the man. 'Shitshitshitshit!' the man swore, starting to run, ignoring the pain in his side. "GRAYSON!" the deep voice bellowed, a spike of fear burying itself into the man's heart. He mentally pushed aside the fear, and continued along the canal. Sweeping his head from side to side, he frantically searched for the exit. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, he came across a ladder. Looking up, he felt his heart fill with hope, temporarily blocking the fear._

 _'There!' he joyously thought, trotting over to the rusty ladder. At the top, he could barely see a manhole cover, his chance of escape. His relief was short-lived, however, as the man pursuing him finally appeared. "Just where do you think you're going, boy?' the large man yelled, echoing around the sewer._

 _Not willing to answer, Grayson began to climb the rusty ladder. 'Just keep going, don't worry about everything else,' he told himself, his weak body struggling to keep up his intense pace. Behind him, he could hear the fast approaching steps, the heavy boots getting louder as they got closer._

 _His breathing labored, Grayson pushed his body to the limit, placing one hand in front of the other. 'Keep climbing, you're so close, Grayson.' He finally reached the top, his heart threatening to burst from his chest. He laid a hand on the bottom of the manhole cover, so close to freedom. However, as he was about to push up on the metal, a heavy weight placed itself around his ankle. In the split second that he had time to react, it was already too late. A strong force pulled him down, causing him to let go of the ladder._

 _Falling to the hard ground, he let out a cry of pain as his leg impacted the ground. All of the air in his lungs was expelled, leaving him gasping on the floor, trying to breathe. Deathstroke loomed over him, reaching for his sword. "Foolish boy. You have to try much harder than that if you are going to escape." Unsheathing his sword, he pointed it at Grayson's face. "Looks like I'm going to have to teach you a lesson."_

 _Swinging his sword in a arc, he was ready to have the steel meet the boy's chest. However, he was surprised to see Grayson raise his hands to defend himself. Instead of the point tearing into the man's chest, it cut a straight line through both of his palms. He screamed, instantly closing his fingers around the wounds, attempting to stem the flow of blood. 'Ffffffuuuuuuccckkkkkkk,' Grayson thought to himself as he held his hands close to his body. He stifled the flow of tears, refusing to show any signs of weakness._

 _"That was either brave, or incredibly foolish," Deathstroke said, turning the sword around. With the flick of a wrist, he shook the blood off of the sword's edge. Leaning down towards the wounded man, he glared at him with one eye. "You are never getting out of here. No one is coming to save you, and no one ever will. You're mine."_

 _'No, no, wait!' Grayson frantically thought as Deathstroke raised his arm. In one quick motion, Deathstroke drove his pommel into Grayson's head, knocking him unconscious._

* * *

The man awoke with a start, his hands clenched close to his chest. He was sweating heavily, black hair plastered to his head. Slowly unfurling his hands, he stared at his palms, the phantom pain pulsing with each beat of his heart. Sighing, he sat up, and grabbed the gloves next to his bed. He knew that he wasn't going to get anymore sleep tonight. Suffering from insomnia, the man couldn't remember the last time he'd had gotten a full night of sleep.

He stood and prepared to leave his hideout. As he opened the door, his mind lingered on the name 'Grayson.' **_'That's not who I am anymore. Grayson died a long time ago. Renegade is who I am now.'_** With that final thought, he left the warehouse, entering the cool morning air. Firing a line, he leaped onto the top of a nearby building, surveying the city below. It was early morning, so there were few people on the streets. Ignoring the pedestrians beneath him, Renegade continued to swing across the city, heading towards Wayne Tower. There, he could track Bruce Wayne, waiting for night to appear. Once Bruce donned the cape and cowl, it would be time to kill the Batman.

* * *

 **AN: And the plot thickens...  
** **Until next time!**


	7. The Next Morning

**AN: *peeks head around corner. Sheepishly grins and rubs back of head.* Hey, guys. So, sorry for the really late update. Life took over, and a little case of writer's block struck. Thankfully, I was able to move past it and crank out a chapter. Sorry if it's kinda crappy, I needed to give a little background (*cough* filler *cough*) to the situation back at the Manor. So, I will try to be on top of updating, but I can't make any promises. Thank you so much for your support and reviews! I love reading them, and I promise, all will be explained in due time. Now, ON WITH THE CHAPTER  
**  
 **Disclaimer: I don't own DC or anything from it, yada, yada, yada. You know I own nothing.**

* * *

 ** _Wayne Manor  
9:00 A.M  
The next morning_**

The air around Wayne Manor was quiet. There was the soft trill of birds in the distance, their presence signifying the continuation of spring. Alfred Pennyworth, the long-time butler of the Waynes, stared out of one of the many large windows within the Manor. His face pensive, he admired the blue sky, and the golden rays of sun that streamed through the glass. However, his heart was heavy. Dick Grayson, a man who he had come to love as a son, had been missing for fourteen months.

He was worried about the man. Initially, seeing how Batman devoted much of his time and energy to finding his adopted son, he was confident that they would find Dick. However, days turned to weeks, turning into months without any sign of Nightwing or Dick. Batman had refused to quit, but Alfred had felt a small bead of despair settle into his heart. He aided Bruce anyway he could, but he feared that there would come a day when they realized that Dick was never going to be found.

Stifling the dark thoughts swirling in his mind, Alfred turned away from the window, and proceeded into the hallway. As he walked down the lengthy corridor, he could hear two voices coming from the living room area. Sighing, he headed towards the noise. The closer he got, the louder the voices became, allowing Alfred to hear what was being said.

"You look like crap, Todd. Did you allow your opponent to use you as a punching bag?"

"Oh yeah, Demon brat? You weren't there, so you have no clue what happened."

"I think I have a pretty good idea," Damian scoffed.

"How about I show you, right here, right now!" Jason retaliated, his voice rising.

"Tt. You'll hardly prove a challenge for me. I was trained by the League of Assassins. We are the best fighters on the planet. I could beat you with my eyes closed."

"You forget, Dami, for all your training, you _lost_ the last time we fought.."

"I can assure you, that won't happen again."

By the time Alfred entered the room, the other sons of Batman were ready to tear each other's throats out. Jason was in a grey t-shirt and black sweatpants, appearing to have recently woken up. His hair was mussed, sticking up in all directions. A white lock of hair hung in front of his face, an ever constant reminder of his bath in the Lazarus Pit.

His face was discolored, evidence from the scuffle from the previous night. A large scowl was marring his features, the bruises giving him a devilish look. In front of him stood Damian Wayne, the youngest and only biological son of Bruce. Wearing a long-sleeved black t-shirt with brown pants, his hair was combed back, slick over his scalp. His arms were crossed over his chest, while he glared right back at Jason. It was almost like looking at a mini Bruce.

Alfred sighed to himself. "Master Jason, Master Damian, please do not fight. I just had this rug cleaned a few days ago, and I would hate for you to stain it."

Jason snorted, and grinned wolfishly at Damian. "Did you hear Al, Dami? No fighting in the living room."

"Don't call me that. Besides, you're not worth my time, nor my energy." Damian held his head high, and stalked out of the room. As he exited, Jason held up his hand, middle finger in the air.

"Master Jason," Alfred scolded.

"Little prick," Jason muttered, gingerly feeling the bridge of his nose.

"How are you feeling this morning?" Alfred asked, scrutinizing the bruises covering the man's face.

"Eh. Could be worse," Jason replied, looking at Alfred. "My nose isn't broken, so that's a plus."

"Yes, it seems the bruises on your face are a trade-off for a crooked nose," he stated, a small smirk crossing his lips.

Jason snorted dryly."Sure. Whatever you say." Glancing at the clock, he asked, "Where did Bruce head off to?"

"Master Bruce is at Wayne Enterprises. He left shortly before seven o'clock, and he should be home later this afternoon."

"Fantastic." He sighed, and ran a hand through his hair, pulling the strands out of his face. "Did he say anything about last night?"

"Not to my knowledge. Unfortunately for Master Bruce, his duties as Bruce Wayne are beginning to catch up with him. Batman may have to take a leave of absence if this continues."

"Lucky him. I'm technically still dead, so I don't have to worry about that kind of stuff." There was a long silence. Jason turned his head and stared out the window. Alfred did not say anything, sadly studying the man in front of him. "You know, I should get going. Thanks for letting me spend the night, but I need to find the asshole who tried to kill me."

"You don't need to leave, Master Jason. This is your home, after all," Alfred replied, trying to persuade Jason to stay.

"Thanks, Al, but this hasn't been my home for a while." Alfred could almost hear a twinge of regret in the man's voice. "Say hi to Goldie for me, will you? I haven't heard from him in a while. Tell him that I'll beat his ass if he doesn't check in soon." Pivoting on his heel, he headed towards the doorway.

Alfred's heart twinged with remorse. He did not reply, the eerie silence filling the room, stifling everything. Jason stopped, sensing the older man's change. "Alfred? What's the problem?" His face filled with confusion. "Where _is_ Dick?"

Alfred still did not reply. Mentally, he made a note to speak to Bruce about not informing Jason of Dick's disappearance. "Master Dick has not been seen in fourteen months," he finally said, watching Jason's face. "He was aiding Master Bruce with his battle against the Court of Owls, and went off to protect the Mayor at Gotham City Hall. There, he was met with a Talon, whom he defeated. Then, he was confronted by his great-grandfather, William Cobb. There was a fight, and Master Dick was rendered unconscious. Then, Slade Wilson appeared, and took Master Dick. That was the last we heard or saw him."

At first, there was a suffocating silence. Jason's expression did not change throughout Alfred's explanation. Then, his eyebrows scrunched together, lips thinning with anger as the news set in. "That motherfucker!" Jason growled, running his hands fiercely through his hair. He began to walk back and forth across the floor, his anger barely contained.

"That motherfucking asshole doesn't speak to me for almost _two_ years, and doesn't have the balls to tell me that Dick went missing?!" He was clenching and unclenching his fists, resisting the urge to punch something. "This is a new level of low, even for Bruce's standards."

Jason was still pacing the floor, cursing Bruce under his breath. "I was under the impression that he had told you, Jason," Alfred said, trying to soothe the man in front of him. Unfortunately, his words had no effect.

"Who knew? Who knew that Dick was missing?" he accused, turning his angry eyes on Alfred.

"Master Tim, Master Damian, and Miss Gordon," came the reply, followed by a long string of curses.

"Even little Timmy knew, and he's off with his group of wannabe heroes?!" Jason scoffed, his voice filled with anger.

"I'm sorry, Master Jason, but I assumed that Master Bruce had told you-"

"Yeah, and when has Bruce shared everything that he knows with the people around him?"Alfred shut his mouth, and looked mutely at Jason. The truth was that Bruce never told the whole story when it came to the family. He often left out key information, believing that he was protecting those he cared about. In reality, he caused more harm than good, increasing the gap between him and his sons.

"You know what, Alfred? I can mostly get over what has happened in the past. I mean, it's Bruce, so he's going to leave some things out. This I can't. Bruce has crossed a line, and he's going to have to work his ass off to get back over it." He looked at Alfred, his eyes filled with emotion. Alfred could see all of the hurt and anguish that filled the blue orbs. Inside his chest, he could feel his heart crack a little bit more. Suddenly, the hurt was buried by a layer of concern, something Jason barely showed so openly.

"Who knows what will happen to Goldie. We all remember what happened last time we saw Wilson."

Alfred internally shivered as the memories of many years ago filled his mind. Dick, who had been terrorized by the deadly mercenary, took weeks to recover, and even longer to become his normal self again. Even to this day, he did not speak of what happened, becoming distant whenever someone tried to get him to open up.

Looking out the window once more, Jason frowned. "He'll be ripped to shreds. It's been fourteen months. I don't know if he's lasted this long." There was another pause. Then, "You can tell Bruce that if he wants to talk to me, he can go fuck himself. I'm done with his selfish bullshit and high and mighty attitude."

Without looking at Alfred, he stalked out of the room. "Good luck with finding Goldie Bird. I'm going out to find him. I don't need Bruce's or anyone's help."

"Master Jason-" Just as Alfred was going to console Jason, a loud doorbell rang throughout the house.

"Expecting company?" Jason asked dryly, padding towards the front hallway, followed by the elderly butler. However, much to the two men's surprise, Damian had beat them to the door, and was standing in the open doorway.

"Drake? What are you doing here?" Damian retorted, his voice thick with annoyance.

"Bruce invited me, Damian. Besides, I have a right to be here." It was Tim, standing in on the front stoop, a duffel slung on his shoulder. Peering over Damian's shoulder, his eyes landed on Jason. "Jason," he said, sounding surprised.

"Tim." Jason's voice was tight, trying to conceal the storm of emotions. Sensing that there was more going on, Tim glanced back at Damian. "Can I come in, or are you just going to have me stand outside all day?"

"Let Master Tim in, please," Alfred said, looking down his nose at Damian. With a throaty sigh, Damian stepped to the side, allowing Tim to pass through.

"Thank you," Tim said dryly, and dropped his duffel bag onto the ground. He looked over at Jason. "What happened to you? You look like you were put through a blender."

"Wouldn't you like to know?" came the short reply.

"Todd got his ass kicked," Damian stated, a smug smirk on his face.

"Shut up, Damian!" Jason rubbed his face in frustration. "What is it, 'Everyone Shit on Jason' day?"

"What happened, Jason?" Tim asked, trying to defuse the situation. He glared at Damian out of the corner of his eye, and pantomimed slicing his neck. Damian rolled his eyes, sighed, and stalked off to another part of the manor.

"I was attacked by some weird black and orange man last night. He was fast, and adept at hand-to-hand combat. He was good," he started, and glanced at Tim. "Really good. But, I managed to pin him, and tried to get some answers. Unfortunately, he dislocated his own shoulder to escape. Pretty ballsy move; smart though. Caught me off guard, and was able to crawl up a fire escape and disappear. Stealthy bastard."

Tim was silent for a few moments. Alfred, who was still watching from the corner, could see the wheels turning in the younger's head. "Do you have any video of what happened?"

"Pfft. Of course we have video. It would be unlike Bruce to not have records of anything."At that, Jason, with Tim trailing behind him, began to walk towards Bruce's study. Alfred followed the two men, slightly happy to see that Jason had temporarily forgotten his anger towards everyone. He stepped into the study, and through the tunnel hidden behind the grandfather clock. Stepping silently down the steps, he watched as both Tim and Jason sat in front of the massive computer screen in the Cave.

As he finally reached the bottom of the steps, Alfred walked over and stood behind the two men, and studied the screen. They were running through the footage gathered from a single camera. Unfortunately, the quality of the video was poor, so it was difficult to discern the strange man's face. Peering over the backs of the chairs, Alfred could see Tim's face. It was tight with concentration, his eyes flitting back and forth across the screen, studying every frame.

"I don't know why, but I had a strange feeling when I first saw this guy," Jason said, gesturing to the screen. He stared at the frozen film, studying the strange man. "I feel like I've met this guy before. I know it sounds crazy, but I _know_ that I've seen him somewhere. I just can't remember where or when..."

The three men were silent, all attentive as they watched the film being rewound over and over. After what seemed like an eternity, Tim suddenly gave a small gasp. He clicked a key, rewinding the video.

"What is it?" Jason asked, eyes scrutinizing the screen. Tim still did not speak, pausing the video, clicking each frame. After a few clicks, he stopped the film. On the monitor, the strange man was twisting in Jason's grip, leg out, ready to deliver a blow. "What do you see, Master Tim?" Alfred asked, his interest piqued.

Tim pointed to the screen. His finger rested on the man's upper torso. "I know this move. It's very complicated, and takes a lot of training to pull it off."

"Yeah, so what? It just means that he was well-trained. We already went over this," Jason stated, confused and slightly irritated that Tim was stating the obvious.

"I know who this is," Tim breathed, his voice suddenly gone. His face had gone white.

Jason spluttered. "What do you mean you 'know who this is'? You've never even met this guy!"

"Jason, I know only two people can pull of this kind of move, and one of them is Batman. I haven't been able to do it and have it be _this_ flawless." All of the air was suddenly sucked from the room.

"Tim, what the hell are you saying?" Jason asked, his voice dangerously low. Alfred could feel his heart racing against his chest, the pounding filling his ears. Everyone in the room had the same thought, but was too afraid to say it, for they feared they were right.

"What I'm saying is that you need to call Bruce, and get him here. Now."

* * *

 **AN: So sorry! Couldn't resist! Feel free to leave a review, or PM me if you have any questions! Until next time!**


	8. Bat vs Bird: Round One

**AN: Hey guys. So so so so sorry for the late update. Life came barging in and took over everything. I hope this chapter can make up for the delay. Hope you guys enjoy. Now, ON WITH THE CHAPTER!**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

* * *

 ** _Wayne Enterprises  
10:30 P.M.  
The same morning..._**

"Mr. Wayne, Applied Sciences needs your input-"

"Mr. Wayne, Foreign relations needs your signature-"

"Mr. Wayne-"

"Mr. Wayne-"

"Yes, yes, I will get to all of your concerns as soon as possible," Bruce replied, turning his head to the many people behind him.

"But Mr. Wayne-" asked one woman, her eyes filled with worry.

"If you have any questions, or discover any other problems, please contact me or Mr. Fox via email or phone," he said, fighting the urge to jump out of a window. A chorus of voices filled the hallway, echoing around the small area. Bruce increased his pace, trying to lose the crowd behind him. However, his followers were not so easily lost.

When they finally reached Bruce's office, the voices had gotten so loud that everyone was shouting, all the voices overlapping. "Enough!" Bruce yelled, his gravelly voice silencing all those who were still talking. "Now, I understand that you all have questions. I promise you, they will be answered. For now, however, if you have any new concerns that arise, don't be afraid to call my secretary. She will be more than happy to schedule a meeting for you."

He glanced over at Marissa, who was giving a glare that rivaled the Bat. "Thank you all for your patience, and I will get to you as soon as I can." At that, he began to walk into his office. The voices once again rose, louder than before. Bruce looked over his shoulder and sent his secretary an apologetic look. Unfortunately, she was too busy trying to gain order over the group of indignant employees to notice.

Striding into his large office, Bruce was finally able to shut the doors behind him, muffling the cacophony behind him. He let out a huge sigh of relief, leaning against the wood. _I really hate this job,_ he thought, rubbing his face, trying to remove the stress. Walking over to his desk, he sat down in the leather chair, leaning back as he looked out the window. His office had a beautiful view of Gotham, the city filled with massive skyscrapers, which reflected the early morning sunlight, a multitude of colors shimmering in the air. The office was good for a tactical view of the city, one of the few vantage points that allowed for a large field of vision.

Bruce stared out the window for a few moments, eyes darting across the roofs, looking for signs of anything unusual. Satisfied, he turned away from the window, and looked at the computer in front of him. It had a twenty-inch screen, a slim black keyboard and mouse. The computer was top of the line, but nowhere near the Batcomputer's capability. However, if Bruce input a code that only he and his allies knew, they would be able to use this computer to access the Batcomputer's database. It came in handy if something happened while Bruce was away from the Manor.

Peering at the screen, Bruce spoke in the quiet office. "Computer, on." The machine let out a small melody, the screen changing from black to a dark blue.

 **"Hello, Mr. Wayne. How may I help you today?"  
** _  
_"Check my inbox for incoming emails, Katherine," Bruce replied, resting his elbows on his desk. He crossed his fingers, making a large fist, and placed it under his nose. Watching the screen, a long and impressive list of emails appeared, stretching down the length of the screen. **"You have over two hundred incoming emails, Mr. Wayne, each sent by over thirty people. Shall I begin to read them?"**

Bruce internally groaned. "No, Katherine, not right now. How many missed calls do I have?"

 **"One moment, please,"** the computer replied, and a small loading image appeared. After a few moments, another list appeared. It was much smaller than the previous one, but impressive nonetheless. **"It appears that you have twenty-five missed messages, Mr. Wayne. Three of them are from Wayne Manor, all within the past forty-five minutes."**

Wayne Manor? That's odd,

Bruce thought. Slipping his smart phone from his pocket, he flicked it on, and saw that he had three missed calls from Tim. _Tim? He's not supposed to get in until Friday._ "Thank you, Katherine. Turn off any incoming alerts, and send a message to the business leaders informing them that something has come up, and I wish to not be disturbed."

 **"Of course, sir,"** the feminine voice replied, the screen changing again to a black screen, the Wayne Enterprises logo slowly rotating on the display. Scrolling through his phone, Bruce selected Tim's contact information, bringing the phone up to his ear as the number dialed. It rang once before a click sounded in Bruce's ear. "Bruce. Thank god, you finally picked up. We've been trying to reach you."

"I just saw, Tim. The company is busy, which means that I've been dragged into it. What is it?"

"Well, I just got into Gotham earlier this morning. Once I saw your message last night, I hopped the earliest flight to the city. I'm at the manor now."

"Good. Stay there. I'll be back within an hour."

"Bruce, wait. I found-" There was a loud noise. "I mean, Jay AND I figured out who was the attacker last night."

Bruce went silent, listening to his son. Taking the silence as an indicator to continue, Tim began to explain. "When I got here, Jay told me about what happened. I asked him if he had anything from the scene, and he said that there was footage from the scene." He paused, his voice speaking to someone in the background. "Hold on, Jason. Give me a minute."

He returned his attention to Bruce. "We watched the video more than a dozen times, but no matter how we tried to improve the resolution, we couldn't see the attacker's face. The cameras were just too crappy." Once again, Tim was pulled away from the conversation. "I know, Jason, but what you saw may not be enough to find this guy." There was a muffled response, but Bruce could hear the hostility in the voice. "Jason, relax. Give me five minutes."

Tim's voice got louder. "Since we couldn't see the guy's face, we tried watching the fight, to see if we could determine where he was trained. Bruce, I don't know if you've seen the footage yet, but he is good. _Very_ good. He pulled off a complicated move that I know only you and one other person can pull off successfully."

Bruce was silent, for he was at a loss for words. The wheels in his head were churning at an impressive speed. Each scenario in his mind all ended with the same conclusion. After what Jason had told him on the way back to the Manor, all of the missing pieces to the puzzle suddenly appeared, allowing for a clear picture to form. Not wanting to jump to conclusions, Bruce wished he had been able to test the blood sample he collected from the scene. Unfortunately, he had been barred from his lab.

He and Jason had arrived at the cave, where Alfred had put his foot down. Much to Bruce's chagrin, he sent the older man upstairs to get at least four hours of sleep while he attended to Jason. Bruce had been unable to test the sample, and it was still down in the cave, waiting to be investigated.

"Bruce? Bruce?" Tim's voice said, shaking Bruce from his inner thoughts.

"It's not who I think it is, is it?" Bruce replied, his voice dangerously low, his soul wishing he was wrong.

"I wish I could prove you wrong, Bruce. It's definitely-"

Tim's voice suddenly disappeared from the line, an indignant "Hey!" resounding in the background.

"It's been five minutes, Timmy. It's my turn to talk to Bruce," Jason said, his voice thick with annoyance. "It's Dickiebird, Bruce. It's _fucking_ Dick. Thanks for the memo, by the way. It was great to know that my _fucking older brother has been missing for FOURTEEN months!_ "

Jason's voice was laced with venom as he plowed on. "I was so happy to hear that you told little Timmy here, Barbara, and Demon Brat about Golden Boy being taken. I bet you thought it was just great having the four of you searching far and wide for Dick, all while leaving me out of the loop. Well, you know what, Bruce? _It wasn't fucking fun for me."_

Bruce was silent, listening to his second oldest son chew him out. "I figured Goldie was busy in Blüdhaven, trying to clean the place up. Yeah, he and I were somewhat on speaking terms. Unlike you, he checked in every once in a while, to see if I hadn't died a second time. When I didn't hear from him for a while, I figured he was helping you or dealing with his own shit. He was dealing with a lot, too. I guess you would have known about that if you ever showed some fucking emotion.

"Then, I learned from Alfie that he was taken by Deathstroke. _Fucking Deathstroke_ , Bruce. I don't know if your thick head ever understands certain situations, but Deathstroke isn't easy to find. If he doesn't want to be found, he makes himself _invisible_. Since it seems like you haven't found anything in fourteen months, I think that it's finally getting through your skull."

"Jason-" Bruce began to say, but Jason was too riled to hear him.

"I don't know what you were thinking, Bruce, but thanks to you, Dick is running around, trying to kill me, and possibly everyone in this damn family. I wouldn't be surprised if he's watching you right now. And let me tell you something, Bruce. Whatever happened to him, it changed him. He's not the same little solider you remember." There was a dark chuckle on the end of the line. "I guess he and I are more alike than we thought."

While Jason had been speaking, Bruce turned towards the window once again, and looked out towards the city. He scanned the roofs, carefully eyeing any hiding spots. As he glanced at the buildings, his eyes caught a flash of movement. Squinting against the glare of the light, he saw the blurry shadow of a figure on a nearby building. Bruce blinked, the figure disappeared. Swearing under his breath, Bruce turned his attention back to his ranting son.

"Congratulations, Bruce. You now have two broken soldiers instead of one," Jason spat, ignoring Bruce's silence.

"Jason. Put Tim on the phone," Bruce firmly replied, stepping away from the window, striding towards his desk.

"Really? You are an asshole, Bruce. Do you honestly not give a shit about what I just said?!" Jason was incredulous, anger overtaking his entire voice.

"Jason, **put Tim on the line,** " Bruce growled, flicking his computer on. Jason let out a string of colorful curses, strong enough to curl the wallpaper.

"Here's the replacement you so desperately want to talk to. Enjoy keeping information between yourselves." There was the sound of a phone exchanging hands, followed by another string of curses, though they were muffled.

"Nice job, Bruce. I've never seen Jay get this mad before," Tim remarked.

"This is not the time. Dick's here."

"What do you mean, 'Dick's here'?" Tim asked, his voice skeptical.

"He's watching me. Somehow he's traveling between rooftops in broad daylight, and was being completely missed by security systems."

"Shit." Bruce heard Tim turn away from the phone and tell Jason what was going on. Jason must have replied, for Tim said something else. A few moments later, Tim spoke to Bruce. "Jason's on his way." This was confirmed by the revving of a motorcycle, which faded as Jason departed. "What do you want me to do?"

"Can you remotely access the security cameras in and around Wayne Enterprises? I need to find out where he went, _now._ " Tim scoffed over the phone.

"At least make it a challenge." The clacking of computer keys could be heard. Tim hummed tunelessly in Bruce's ear, deep in concentration. Within a matter of seconds, there was a ding, signaling Tim's success. "Alright, Bruce, I'm accessing the Tower's cameras now, aaaannnnndddd...done."

"What do you see?" Bruce asked as he reached into his desk, pulling out a spare batarang that he always had on him. It came in handy when anything unexpected happened.

"Nothing right now. I don't see anything-wait!" Tim exclaimed. "There was movement on the top of the skyscraper on Providence and Sixth." Bruce turned and looked out the window. In the distance, he could barely make out the form of the approaching assassin.

"Bruce, you need to get out of there, now."

"No."

"Now is not the time to be the stubborn Batman we all love, Bruce. Remember, you have to maintain a cover after all."

Bruce gritted his teeth in frustration. He hated being told to step down but he knew that Tim was correct in this instance. "Fine. I'm heading to the parking garage."

"Okay. I can see you leaving your office now," Tim replied, scanning the many feeds.

"How long until Jason arrives?"

"About four minutes. And that's if he drives slower than seventy miles per hour."

Bruce walked calmly and casually out of his office, silently overjoyed that the crowd of people had finally dispersed.

"Mr. Wayne, do you need anything?" Marissa asked, her face slightly confused.

"Nothing at all, thank you, Marissa. I'm just heading outside for a few minutes of fresh air," he reassured, flashing her a gentle smile.

"Dammit!" came Tim's voice. "I lost him again, Bruce. He's quick, that's for sure."

"Yes, but he can't stay hidden forever," growled Bruce, flinging the door open to the stairs. He began his descent, dress shoes hitting the concrete.

"Give me a minute. It's kinda hard to look at all these cameras at once, you know," Tim scoffed.

A few moments later, Bruce had made it into the employee parking lot. In the CEO spot was a black Lamborghini, the metal shining dully in the low lighting. "I'm in the garage. Did you find him?"

"No, he's still not showing up on the cameras. I don't know where the hell he is."

"Where's Jason?"

"Uhhh...two minutes out."

 _That won't be fast enough,_ Bruce thought. He pointed his keys at the car, clicking the unlock button. A loud chirping sound echoed across the garage as Bruce opened the door and slid into the car. "Tell Jason that I'm pulling out now. He can meet me on the road and follow me back to the Manor."

"Okay," Tim said, switching over to another comm. "Jason, look for Bruce's Lamborghini. He's headed your way." There was a pause. "I know you busted your ass to get out there. Suck it up and get ready to follow Bruce back here."

Turning the key in the ignition, Bruce started up the car. However, he was surprised when a loud _THUD_ came from the roof of the car. A hand broke though the car window, grabbed Bruce by the front of his suit, and pulled him through the broken glass. Caught unawares, Bruce lost a hold of his phone, the device clattering to the ground.

Bruce felt his body fly through the air and land a good distance away from the car. It wasn't a comfortable landing, the pavement knocking the wind from his body. _Dammit,_ Bruce swore as he struggled to sit up. _Get up, get up._ Through his blurred vision, he could see the lithe form of his attacker jump off the roof of the car, landing silently on the pavement.

"Bruce? Bruce, what's going on?" came Tim's voice through the phone. It sounded tinny, carrying a tone of concern. "Bruce?!" The attacker glanced down at the phone at his feet. Raising a foot, he slammed his heel down on the device, shattering it. The phone went silent, and the man gazed back at Bruce.

Bruce could see the hidden tension radiating off the man. Seeing the slim form of his attacker, Bruce's fears were confirmed. "Dick," he whispered, trying to get air back into his lungs. The man didn't reply, fists clenched at his sides. Instead, he strode towards Bruce, and grabbed the front of his suit. He lifted Bruce off the ground, bringing him up to eye level.

His mouth was set in a straight line, lips pulled tightly over his teeth. His face showed no signs of recognition at his mentor, a blank expression covering his features. Without any warning, Dick struck Bruce across the face, sending him sprawling once more. What little breath Bruce had regained was lost once he hit the ground once again.

 _Shit,_ Bruce thought as he moved his tongue around in his mouth. The sharp tang of blood met his senses, and cleared some of the haze that had settled across his mind. He focused on breathing, and set his eyes on his former apprentice. As the young man approached him, Bruce slowly reached into his pocket, palming a small Batarang. Flicking it open, he kept it hidden, waiting for the opportune moment to strike.

Dick was clothed in a black and orange suit, much like his Nightwing costume. However, his body was too sharp, the colors too menacing, the mask too angular. Bruce felt his heart crack slightly as he took in his son's appearance. _What did Deathstroke do to you?_ he thought sadly. Dick stood in front of Bruce, glaring at the man before him. Without a word, he reached towards his back, grasping the hilt of the sword on his back. In one fluid motion, he had unsheathed his weapon, the point of the steel resting mere inches from Bruce's eye. All was quiet in the garage, the breaths of the men barely noticeable.

"Dick," Bruce said, trying one final time. Dick did not respond, so he continued. "Dick, we can help you. He doesn't have control over you."

Still, the young man did not reply. His entire body was as taut as a bowstring, waiting to let an arrow fly. Dick's cheek twitched, but was quickly immobile once again. Fingering the batarang in his hand, Bruce coiled his muscles, waiting to spring. After what seemed like an eternity, Dick swung his arm back in an arc, preparing to deal the final blow. However, he underestimated the man before him. Having anticipated the attack, Bruce rolled onto his shoulder, escaping the reach of the sword. Catching Dick off-guard, he punched the younger man in the stomach, causing him to double over. In that split second, he grabbed the arm with the sword. Twisting the appendage, he pinched the nerve, watching the sword plummet to the pavement. Holding onto that arm, he twisted it behind Dick's back, bringing the point of the batarang underneath Dick's chin with his other hand.

The whole scuffle took less than thirty seconds. Dick was stock still, his hand clenching the wrist underneath his chin. His head was turned upwards, breathing shallow. "Stand down, Dick," Bruce growled in the man's ear. Dick struggled in Bruce's grip, but stopped when Bruce applied more pressure with the batarang. " **Stand. Down.** " Bruce repeated. Bruce could hear the blood rushing in his ears, heartbeat pounding loudly.

Dick was motionless, muscles tight in anticipation. Bruce, sensing that Dick would make a bid for freedom, weakened his grip slightly. Dick drove his heel back, intending to strike Bruce in the kneecap. However, since he had predicted this move, Bruce was able to escape a crippling injury. Unfortunately, he was forced to lose his hold on his captive, as Dick drove his elbow into Bruce's ribs, slipping free of the older man's grip.

 _Damn, he's still a slippery bastard._ Bruce grunted, subconsciously resting an arm around his ribs. The two men stared at each other, neither making a move. It was like watching two cats fighting. They sized each other up, both sending glares towards each other.

"Dick," Bruce said once again, making the first move. The man did not reply.

"This isn't you. The attempt on Jason's life, all of this." He gestured to the parking garage behind him. "Deathstroke _made_ you do it," he stated, eyes never leaving Dick. He saw the man tense at the mention of Deathstroke, but it vanished, replaced once more with a cold exterior.

"You can still come home. We can help you." In the distance, he could hear the sound of an engine. He saw Dick's face tighten, the muscles twitching. "Alfred misses you," he gently added, smiling minutely at the butler's name. Unfortunately, Dick's reaction was different. He imperceptibly shook his head, one of hands heading towards his face. He placed his palm over one of his eyes, and began to apply pressure. His lips moved with soundless words, teeth gritted tight.

The engine was getting louder. It was now or never. "Dick, come home."

Looking up at his name, Dick stared with his uncovered eye. Even though the pupils were covered, Bruce knew that they were filled with confusion and pain. Dick opened his mouth, but was unable to say anything. "Hey, asshole!" A loud shout filled the garage, and Dick turned towards the noise. There was a loud _THUD_ , and the young man was sent flying across the garage. Bruce glanced towards the attacker, and was met with a red helmet glistening in the low lighting. It was Jason, who was dressed in his customary leather jacket, army pants, and heavy black boots. On his shoulder rested a bright red fire extinguisher, which he had used to send his older brother flying.

Resting on his idling bike, Jason turned his head back, looking at his mentor. "Hey, Bruce. Need a lift?"

* * *

 **AN: Sorry, but I didn't know how else to end it! If you have an ideas of what I should do next, feel free to PM me! Until next time!**


	9. Brawl in the Garage

**AN: Hey guys! Thanks for being patient, lots of stuff has been happening, and I was plagued with a bit of writer's block. Here's a new update, hope you enjoy! Now, ON WITH THE CHAPTER!**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own anything.**

* * *

 _"Hey, asshole!" A loud shout filled the garage, and Dick turned towards the noise. There was a loud thud, and the young man was sent flying across the garage. Bruce glanced towards the attacker, and was met with the sigh of a red helmet glistening in the low lighting. It was Jason, who was dressed in his customary leather jacket, army pants, and heavy black boots. On his shoulder rested a bright red fire extinguisher, which he had used to send his older brother flying.  
_

 _Resting on his idling bike, Jason turned his head back, looking at his mentor. "Hey, Bruce. Need a lift?"  
_

* * *

"What took you so long?" Bruce growled as Jason turned his bike off, nudging the kickstand down.

"What, no 'hello,' or 'thanks for saving my ass back there, I was in danger of dying'?" came Jason's sarcastic reply. "Typical Bruce. Too proud to say 'thank you.'" He scoffed, the sound catching in his throat.

"Think fast." He tossed the fire extinguisher to Bruce, who deftly caught the object with one hand. Jason swung his leg over the side of the bike, glancing back over towards Dick's rising form. Reaching for the holster on his right leg, Jason withdrew a silver pistol, moving the slide back, checking the chamber of the weapon.

"Jason," Bruce growled, a warning tone in his voice.

"What? Oh come on, Bruce. I can't believe that you think I would actually _shoot_ Dickie." Jason almost sounded disappointed, but it carried a sarcastic tone. "Though I have thought about it before," he added, looking at Bruce over his shoulder again, "I wouldn't do it. Timmy gave me some tranquilizers, which, last I checked, don't cause death. He won't die. Not today, anyway."

There was a quiet groan from the other end of the garage. Dick had finally risen to his feet, and was bent over slightly. There was a small gash on his forehead, the blood running down his face slowly, staining his skin red. "Finally," Jason mocked, his voice deep. "Twinkle Toes finally decided to join the party."

Dick snarled, but didn't move towards the two men. "Come on, Dickiebird, don't tell me you've got cold feet. You can't skip out. I want a rematch." Jason's helmet gleamed in the low lighting, as did the gun in his hand. Raising the weapon, Jason aimed the barrel at Dick. "The last time I fought you, you ran, and I was left in a dirty alleyway." If one could see under his helmet, they would see the smirk across the man's lips. "I'd say it was a draw. So, how about best two out of three?" There was no reply.

Jason sighed. "I don't know what Deathstroke did, but it fucked you up, didn't it?" To Bruce, he almost sounded sad. Jason often never showed emotion unless something really bothered him. The older man felt a tiny prick of guilt pierce the walls around his heart. He knew that he should have told Jason of what happened to Dick; however, fear, anger, and a plethora of other emotions had blinded him, allowing him to push the man further away. He had hurt Jason, and now it was beginning to manifest within himself and his son.

Unfortunately, this was not the time nor the place to figure out what he was feeling. Bruce pushed his feelings into their designated box, and buried deep within himself, allowing the 'emotionless' Batman to take over. Studying the injured man, Bruce noticed that Dick was favoring his right side, his ribs clearly causing him pain.

Although this was the case, the young man was not going to give up easily. Both of his hands went to his sides, each hovering over the pommel of two knives. Unsheathing the weapons, he held them in his hands much like his escrima sticks. Sliding his feet across the pavement, he took up a defensive stance. "Oh, we're in deep shit, aren't we?" Jason asked his mentor, quickly drawing his other pistol, switching the safety off.

Unfortunately, Bruce was not able to respond, for Dick made the first move. Stepping to the side, he moved, never staying in one spot for more than a second. His younger brother let loose a shot, barely missing the older man. "Dammit!" he swore, quickly firing his other weapon. Even though Jason was a master marksman, he was having great difficulty hitting Dick. The black-clad man continued to evade the bullets, sidestepping and ducking behind cars, using the metal as cover.

"Stay still!" Jason yelled, letting loose a stream of bullets, slowly walking backwards, keeping the distance between him and Dick. Unfortunately, his request fell on deaf ears. One second, Dick was behind a black Sedan, the next he was a mere ten feet from Jason. "Crap!" Jason ducked to the side, tucking and rolling. In that spilt second, he rolled up onto one knee, and took a shot at Dick, who was forced to stop, and backtrack a step.

Seeing an opening, Bruce rushed towards Dick, the fire extinguisher heavy in his hands. With a loud _CLANG,_ the extinguisher met the blades as the two men engaged in combat. Both of the men's arms shook with exertion as each struggled to throw the other off balance. Shoving off of each other, they broke contact, and were quickly engaged again. Dick was swinging his knives at any opening he could find. Bruce was able to block the strikes, deflecting the blades off the extinguisher's sides, the metal screeching as it slid across the surface. "Dick, stop this! Stand down," Bruce stated, his voice deep and intimidating.

Unfortunately, the voice that normally turned criminals into Jell-O did not have the same effect on the former Boy Wonder. He continued to attack with deadly ferocity, the tips of his blades managing to graze Bruce, leaving thick scratches across the man's chest. Bruce had many of these marks across his body, which were bleeding as the fight continued.

Meanwhile, Jason was trying to find another opening in the fight. He had his barrels trained on the two men, but was unable to get a good angle to shoot Dick. After letting loose a string of curses, he holstered his guns. "Fuck it," he said, reaching into his boot, and pulling out a large knife. Flipping the grip in his hand, he positioned the knife in reverse, so that the blade faced towards his enemy, all while facing downwards. Not giving himself a chance to rethink his decision, he rushed headlong into the fight.

Now there was a whirlwind of metal, Dick's blades trying to find both of his opponents. They were all evenly matched, but something shifted inside of Dick. He began to attack more ferociously, his blows pushing Jason and Bruce back. "Dick, stand down!" Bruce growled once again, the fire extinguisher cracking Dick across the face. Dick shook his head, and spat onto the pavement. The splatter was a deep crimson, its color standing out in the dim lighting. Bruce swung the extinguisher again. Dick, expecting the blow, bent over backwards, watching the metal pass harmlessly over his face. Righting himself, he drove a fist against Bruce's kidneys, forcing the older man to bend over in pain. He rushed Jason, and continued to clash blades.

Bruce struggled to regain his breath, but was failing miserably. He could only watch helplessly as Jason was driven back by Dick's ferocious blows. Jason pushed back Dick's knives, and tried to land a swing on the would-be assassin. Dick avoided this by flipping over his brother, leaving Jason vulnerable from the back. Then, Dick, taking one of the knives, drove it into Jason's side, right above the hip. He had found a kink in Jason's body armor, and exploited it.

There was a loud gasp from Bruce. Jason stood in shock for a few moments, but quickly regained his composure. He swung his arm back, catching Dick across the face with the end of his blade. Sensing the attack, Dick had moved back, but was still caught, a small scratch on his left cheek dripping blood. "You asshole!" Jason yelled, looking at his side, and back at Dick. "You fucking stabbed me! What the hell!"

Bruce gave a mental sigh of relief. Jason was still standing, and swearing, which was a good sign. But upon further investigation, he noticed that the younger man was slowly bending in half, red seeping through his coat. Knowing that he wouldn't last very long, Bruce struggled to get back up. Using the extinguisher as a crutch, he lifted himself up, and shakily stood to face Dick. His oldest son stared emotionlessly at him, apparently having no qualms about stabbing Jason. He twirled the bloodstained knives on his fingers, small droplets flying across the garage. Bruce stared right back, anger at himself and Deathstroke slowly burning his insides. "This isn't you, Dick. You have to fight it." Dick's face flickered for a moment, but it was covered by a sneer a second later. He took a step towards Bruce, but stopped. He cocked his head slightly, like a dog listening for something. Then, the whites of his mask widened.

Bruce began to listen too, at first hearing nothing. Then, the slow rise of a powerful engine met his ears. _I know that sound anywhere,_ he thought as a wave of relief passed through him. The engine grew louder and louder, when a large black vehicle entered the garage behind Bruce. The driver slammed on the brakes, the Batmobile sliding to a halt. Everyone in the garage just stared. Dick, sensing the situation was no longer in his control, slowly began to back away.

He stopped when the Batmobile shifted into battle mode, the long barrel targeted on him. "Don't even think about it," said the voice over the speaker system.

"Tim?" Jason breathed, surprise filling his voice.

"You two alright?" Tim asked, the guns never leaving Dick.

"We're fine," Bruce replied.

"Bullshit. You're lucky Robin and I came when we did."

"Wait. Demon Brat is in there with you?" Jason asked.

"Of course I'm here, Hood," Damian sneered. "I am a part of this family too, don't you forget." There was a loud sliding sound. The hatch opened, and out jumped Robin. His hood was down, the black cape only coming down to his knees. He strode over to Bruce, and glanced at his father. "You look like crap."

"Looks worse than it is," he replied, looking at the smirk that crossed his biological son's features.

"Tt. Sure." Damian turned his head, and visibly blanched. "Grayson," he whispered loudly, his eyes wide beneath his mask. Dick took a step back, his face full of surprise as he stared at Damian. No words were spoken as the two examined each other. Then, Damian took a step forward. The older man took another step back, turning his head away from Damian. The youngest Wayne paused, watching Dick. Bruce could have sworn he saw a flicker of sadness cross his features, but it was gone as soon as it had appeared. "Grayson, what happened?" Damian asked quietly, not moving.

Dick did not reply, only shaking his head slowly. He reached into his belt, withdrawing something, concealing it in his hand. "Wait," Bruce warned, but it was too late. Throwing his arm down, Dick released smoke pellets from his hands, filling the garage with thick smoke. "Wait!" Damian cried. He was met with silence.

"He's gone," Bruce said quietly, dropping the extinguisher to the ground. Walking over to Damian, he stood next to him, peering into the smoke. "He'll be back," he said, hoping to reassure his son.

"Tt." Damian didn't reply, turning away from the smoke, and heading towards the Batmobile. Bruce followed, seeing that Tim, clad in his Red Robin gear, had exited the vehicle, and was helping Jason. "Dammit, you took your time, didn't you?" Jason growled.

"We got caught in traffic," Tim responded, applying a field dressing to Jason's side. The man hissed in pain, quickly stifling the noise. "C'mon, Al needs to look at that." Tim swung Jason's arm over his shoulder, and helped him hobble to the car. Spying Damian and Bruce, Tim motioned with his head. "Let's get back to the Cave."

The two followed Tim and Jason, wordlessly climbing into the vehicle. "I'll drive," Damian stated, but was cut off by Tim.

"No, I'm driving. You keep an eye on Jason." Damian growled, but complied. Sliding into the driver's seat, Tim pressed some of the buttons on the dashboard, closing the hatch. Revving the engine, Tim maneuvered the vehicle out of the garage and onto the open road.

"What about my bike?" Jason asked from the back.

"Forget about your bike. You couldn't exactly use it," Damian replied.

"I really liked that bike," Jason whined from the back, his hand resting on his side, grimacing slightly.

"We'll get you another one," Tim growled from the front seat, shifting the car into gear. Pressing his foot on the gas, Tim urged the car down the road, smoothly avoiding the other cars on the road. Bruce sat quietly in the passenger seat, staring blankly out of the windshield. There were a few moments of silence, unbroken by anyone in the car.

"Sonofabitch," Jason whispered in the back, disturbing the once quiet car.

"Are you bleeding out?" Tim asked, glancing in the rearview mirror.

"Not yet, but I don't know how well your dressing will hold up."

"Then you'll be fine," Bruce growled, still not looking away from the road.

"The bastard cut me," Jason stated, incredulously.

"Yes, we are aware of this, Jason," Tim replied calmly.

Jason hissed through his teeth, but did not continue to speak. The rest of the ride was silent, none of the men feeling the need to speak. They were all in shock, for what they had all seen in the garage had shaken them to their core. Dick, the glue that held them all together, was no longer the same. He was broken, and they were all afraid that they would be unable to put him back together.

* * *

 _ **'Stupid, stupid, stupid.'** _ That is what Dick thought to himself as he retreated from the garage. **'** _ **I should have stayed. I should have fought them all.'** _ A shudder of fear passed through him. **'** _ **HE will be angry.'** _ He took a breath, trying to calm his rapid heart. **' _He's not in Gotham. He wouldn't have come all the way out here.'_**

After traveling across the city, using the shadows that the sun provided, he was able to make it back to the warehouse. Sliding in an open window, he landed softly on the upper level, his feet barely making a sound. Slinking across the open area, he opened the office door, slipping inside the room. Slamming the door, he relaxed slightly. However, the hair on the back of his neck prickled. Whipping around, he unsheathed his knives and faced the threat.

"Hello, Renegade," stated a shadowed figure. The mysterious man was sitting in an old office chair, fingers steepled in front of him. Dick's body chilled when he heard the man's voice. All of his instincts told him to drop everything and run, but his feet were rooted to the ground.

"What, no words of excitement? I'm surprised," the man taunted, standing up from the chair. **'** _ **Please, don't be him. Let this all be a dream,'** _ Dick silently pleaded. His prayers, unfortunately, went unanswered. Standing in the office before him was a man he feared and hated, one who had taken him, and twisted him until he was a shell of his former self. In the office before him, was Deathstroke the Terminator.

"So, my apprentice. Shall we discuss how your mission is progressing?"

* * *

 **AN: Sorry, not sorry! Thanks for sticking with this! Until next time!**


	10. Regrouping at the Manor

**AN: Hey guys! Thanks for being patient! I didn't have access to my computer for almost two weeks, which had all my material for this story. I've worked on this part of the story for a long time, so I hope you guys enjoy! Thank you to all who followed and favorited this story! I also love reading your comments! Thank you for your support! Now, ON WITH THE CHAPTER!  
**  
 **Disclaimer: You know what I don't own.**

* * *

 _Standing in the office before him was a man he feared and hated, one who had taken him, and twisted him until he was a shell of his former self. In the office before him, was Deathstroke the Terminator.  
_

 _"So, my apprentice. Shall we discuss how your mission is progressing?"_

* * *

Dick did not reply. He stood in front of Deathstroke, trying to keep his body from trembling. He watched as the assassin took a step towards him. "Why do you still have your weapons drawn? There are obviously no threats nearby," Slade stated, emotionless, crossing his arms over his chest.

Dick quickly sheathed the blades, and stood at attention, his chest rising and falling minutely, disguising his racing heart.

"So, as I said before, do you have anything to report?"

 _ **'He knows I failed,'**_ Dick thought to himself. **_'He knows that I hesitated, and retreated when I should have fought to the death_** _.'_ Warily, he peered at his "master," waiting for any sign of attack. **_'He's waiting for me to confess to my failures. I won't tell him what he already knows.'_** He remained silent, staring at a spot on the wall somewhere behind Deathstroke. There was silence throughout the room for a few moments. Then, Deathstroke let out a low chuckle, sending chills up Dick's spine.

"I'm guessing your silence is your way of saying that you have nothing to report? I'm surprised; from your video feed, I would say that you are making great progress in the elimination of the Bats." Deathstroke scowled as he glared at Dick, his fists clenched at his sides.

Dick opened his mouth to reply, but was cut off. In a split second, Deathstroke had shot forward, punching Dick across the jaw. The younger man recoiled, tasting the blood in his mouth. Then, he felt a large and powerful hand reach towards him, latching onto his hair. Inhaling deeply, he stifled any cries of pain as his head was wrenched back, his hands instinctively grabbing onto his assailant's wrist.

 ** _'Don't scream, don't scream. Remember what happened last time,_** ' he reminded himself as he looked at Deathstroke out of the corner of his eye. He swallowed, the coppery taste of blood filling his mouth as his bitten tongue leaked more blood.

"You stupid boy," Deathstroke growled, bringing the man's ear close to his mouth. "They left you. For fourteen months, they never came for you. Not one time did the Big Bad Bat come to save you."

Dick struggled slightly, trying to pry Slade's hand from his hair. But a quick tug on his scalp ceased all movement. "Do not disobey me again." Slade flung Dick to the ground, the man painfully hitting the ground. "If you do," Deathstroke growled, looming over Dick, "this will be the least of your problems."

 ** _'What-'_** With deadly speed and accuracy, Slade brought down one of his knives into Dick's chest, directly below his collar bone. Dick, unable to hold back his screams, yelled in the empty warehouse, body arching in pain. He reached towards the hilt of the knife, hands shaking as he struggled to grasp the hilt. Slade knocked his hand away, and twisted the hilt, further driving the knife into the man's chest. As Dick cried out once again, Slade knelt down on one knee next to Dick. "You are lucky that I am letting you live."

Dick gasped as another wave of pain passed through him. He bit his lip to stifle any more noise. "Tonight, you will go back into the city, and kill the Bat and his brats. You will not return until you have done so. If you return without their heads, yours will be removed."

The words sounded muffled in Dick's ears, but he was able to hear the threat behind Deathstroke's words. "You have three days, Renegade. Then I come after you all." With a small grunt, and a low sucking sound, Deathstroke removed the blade from Dick's chest. The wound began to leak red, Dick's black uniform hiding the color. Dick gritted his teeth as he breathed deeply, painfully clenching his jaw shut. He withheld any sounds of discomfort, instead focusing on evening out his breaths. There was the sound of receding footsteps, followed by the loud _CLANG_ of a door being slammed. Dick lay on the cold ground, trying not to pass out as his chest bled.

 ** _'Alright. Up, up, up. Get up, you weakling.'_** Holding a hand over his injury, he rose unsteadily, and stumbled towards one of the back rooms of the warehouse. **_'I need to continue to breathe. Freaking out isn't going to help me.'_** Focusing on the wall ahead of him, Dick moved towards the first aid kit. Each step was like walking through cement. It seemed like he was getting nowhere.

He sighed in relief when he finally reached the small white box. He unclasped the hinge, and withdrew a needle and thread. Raising the needle, he shakily guided the end of the thread into the eye of the needle. It took a few attempts, on account of his shaky hands. Mentally swearing, he continued to struggle to thread the needle. A miniscule smile crossed his lips when he finally guided the thread through the eye.

Wordlessly, he placed the tip of the needle on the edge of the knife wound. Sucking in a large breath, he pierced the skin, pulling the metal, along with the thread through his tissue. He let out a small groan, trying to breathe though the pain. **_'C'mon, it's not like you haven't been sewn up before. Suck it up.'_**

He continued to sew, ignoring the throbs in his chest. The wound leaked small droplets of blood, which left trails on his suit. The droplets disappeared as the suit absorbed the blood. Finally tying off the thread, he placed the black thread between his teeth. Biting down hard, he pulled, breaking the thread. Running his fingers over the stitches, he nodded to himself, satisfied with his work. **_'It'll do. If I don't kill Batman, he'll be back, and I'll be the one who dies.'_**

Dick placed his palms over his face, and rubbed his face. **_'Well, Batman will be out tonight, looking for me.'_** A small flicker passed through his heart. Dick blanched for a second, but quickly pushed it away. **_'I'll find him, or die trying.'_**

* * *

Damian Wayne slowly blinked his eyes open, sunlight streaming in his face. **_'It's too early for this. Why did Pennyworth leave the damn blinds open?'_** Groaning, he rolled onto his side, using his back as a shield from the dreadful light. As he stretched, he could feel the cool sheets under his fingertips, soothing his warm body. He sighed, and tried to succumb to unconsciousness once again. He gladly accepted the dark tendrils of sleep as they approached the edges of his mind. Unfortunately, more sleep was not in the cards for young Damian.

The door clicked open, followed by a pair of silent footsteps. Damian growled loudly, angrily opening one eye to glare at the unwelcome guest. "What do you want, **Drake?** "

Tim stood in the doorway, looking at the youngest Wayne. "Bruce wanted me to check on you to see if you were still alive, or hadn't snuck off anywhere."

"Of course I would be alive. I am in perfect health, my body and mind in peak physical condition."

Tim rolled his eyes. "Uh-huh. Well, it's almost four-thirty in the afternoon, so obviously, something was off."

"That's what you think, Drake," Damian growled. **_'Almost four-thirty? I was asleep longer than intended.'_** Damian mentally shuddered as his memory began to take hold. **_'After the event at the garage earlier this morning, Father had us all running around, trying to see where Grayson went.'_** A small jolt of grief passed through his heart as his visualized his oldest brother, and how _broken_ he looked. Angrily, he shoved the thought away. **_'I must have nodded off after sitting down back in the Cave. It is understandable of course, since I have not gotten any sleep in the past four days. Criminals in Gotham don't know when to give it a rest.'_**

"Well, come down to the Cave whenever you're ready. Bruce wants to see you." Tim began to back out of the room.

"Drake," Damian said, sitting upright in his bed.

"Yeah?" Tim replied, gazing at Damian.

There was a moment of silence. Then: "Will Grayson be alright?"

"..." Tim was at a loss for words. Seeing Dick at the garage earlier that morning had shocked him to his core. His older brother was a shell of his former self, replaced with something wounded and broken. He knew that Bruce, Jason, and everyone in the family would do everything they could to rescue Dick; but, there was a small part of him, hidden deep within his soul, that was somewhat skeptical over whether Dick could be saved or not.

Looking at his oldest brother, Tim saw fourteen months of pain and suffering. The way Dick held himself, the way he moved, even the way he did not speak; it all was a sign of all Dick had experienced. Dick always had something to say, like a joke or reassuring advice. This silent man, who wore black and orange had replaced the lively black and blue hero that was Dick Grayson.

"I honestly don't know, Damian," Tim finally replied, sadness filling his blue eyes. "All I know is that we can bring Dick home, and do our best to help him."

"Hmm," Damian replied, his lips forming a tight line across his face. There was a moment of silence in the room. "Where's Todd?" the young boy asked, glancing at the door behind Tim.

"He's in the living room, stewing. Alfred finally put his foot down, and placed Jason under house arrest after Dick stabbed him."

A small smirk crossed Damian's lips. "Tt. Poor Todd, he hates being left behind." Throwing the covers from his legs, he clambered out of bed, and strode in front of Tim. "Tell Father that I will be downstairs within ten minutes." At that, he turned on his heel, and strutted to the bathroom. Tim huffed in annoyance, and began to leave. **_'Little arrogant prick.'_**

Tim shut the door behind him, striding into the silent hallway. Trying to distract himself from the bleak thoughts that threatened to consume him, he recited calculus equations in his head, allowing the numbers to flow, soothing his troubled mind. He made his way down towards the Cave, already halfway through his first equation.

Quickly descending the many steps, he stopped behind Bruce, who was sitting in front of the giant computer, watching the film from the garage on repeat. "Damian?" the older man grumbled, not turning in his chair to face Tim.

"Dee will be down in about ten minutes," Tim replied, crossing his arms over his chest He leaned against the side of Bruce's massive chair, eyes flitting across the screen."Find anything new?"

Bruce sighed, and rubbed his face. "No. The feed is useless."

Tim hummed in agreement, absorbed in the screen. Only the sound of whirring fans filled the cave. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, both men could hear a pair of footsteps coming down the steps.

"Shut up, Damian."

Tim internally groaned. He knew that voice anywhere. Turning around, he could see both Damian and Jason making their way towards them. Jason was glaring at Damian, his hand subconsciously resting over his side. Watching the two brothers, Tim deduced that Damian had decided to push Jason's buttons, and rile him up about being benched by Alfred. It was rather unfair, but they all had suffered under the hand of a fed-up butler. Tim's mind traveled back to when the men arrived back at the Cave. **_'Alfred was pissed,'_** he thought to himself.

 _"You were lucky to escape with your life," Alfred said, tying off the stitch in Jason's side. The young man snorted, choosing not to reply as he sat on the table, flinching as small pricks of pain flickered in his side. As soon as he finished patching Jason up, Alfred pointed towards the stairs. "Everyone, change into your regular clothes, and go upstairs. You are going to shower, and sleep for at least four hours. NO exceptions," he stated, giving Tim and Jason the hairy eyeball as they began to complain. "You too, Master Bruce," the butler said, sending his gaze over to Bruce._

 _Damian had passed out while watching Jason receive his stitches, his chest rising and falling. Bruce walked over towards Damian. Picking him up bridal style, he carried his biological son upstairs to his room. Tim walked over towards the changing room, and numbly stripped out of his suit. Pulling on a t-shirt and jeans, he stumbled out of the cave and up the stairs. He barely made it into bed before the emotions that he had kept bottled up came exploding out of him. He silently slid to the floor at the foot of his bed, body racking with sobs. Fear, sadness, all came pouring out of him; all the while, he was completely silent._

 _Once he had no more tears, he threw his clothes into the hamper, and stepped into the shower, allowing the hot water to beat on his skin, and erase any evidence of his breakdown. Feeling refreshed, he changed, and climbed onto his bed, falling asleep almost as soon as his head hit the mattress. He woke about two hours later, and left his room, heading straight to the Cave. From there, he was sent by Bruce to fetch Damian._

Now, back in the cave, Jason and Damian ignored Bruce and Tim, too focused on their heated argument. Their voices grew louder, until they were almost screaming at each other. **"Enough."** Bruce's voice cut through the shouts like a knife, silencing everyone. Jason opened his mouth to speak, but quickly snapped it shut when Bruce sent a one-eyed glare towards him. Damian, a smug smirk adorning his lips, sauntered over to his father. "What do you need us for, Father?"

Turning fully in his chair, Bruce rose, Tim standing beside him. Damian and Jason stood a few feet away, watching his every move. "We are going after Dick. Tonight," Bruce said, his voice holding a tone of finality.

"Finally. I thought we were never going to take any action," Jason scoffed, grimacing slightly as his breath aggravated his wound. Bruce glared at Jason, but made no comment. "We leave like normal, and continue as if nothing is wrong. When Dick shows himself-and he will- follow, but do _not_ engage. Pursue only, and contact all of us immediately. That way, we can corner him and try to bring him home."

The three boys nodded. Tim's analytical mind was already racing, plans A through Z stacking up like cards. "What about me? Am I just supposed to stay at home, and twiddle my thumbs, hoping the Bat and his Robins bring home Goldie?" came Jason's sarcastic voice.

"No," Bruce replied, locking eyes with his son. "You will be running surveillance, watching the cameras, making sure that we aren't caught by surprise."

"Oh that's great. I guess my great computer skills made me **perfect** for the job," he scowled, his white forelock falling in front of his forehead.

"You won't be alone," Bruce stated, looking over Jason's shoulder.

"What, with Alfred? Oh yeah, Bruce, I know that I'm not alone. But who's gonna-" Jason suddenly whipped around, his eyes wide.

"What's up, boys? Long time no see," Barbara Gordon said as she made her way down the stairs. The red-head had her hair pulled into a high ponytail, the red locks swinging as she descended. A pair of black glasses rested on her nose, almost giving her a librarian look. She wore a green hoodie and a pair of worn jeans, with black sneakers. From the way her clothes looked disheveled, she obviously had been in a hurry. Alfred, the ever-faithful butler, was trailing behind her.

"Thanks, Al," she said, smiling at the butler once they reached the bottom of the steps.

"Of course, Ms. Gordon. If you need anything, feel free to give a shout," Alfred replied.

The three boys stood, dumbstruck. Barbara stared at them. Tim noticed that she warily glanced at Jason, disguising her discomfort with a wry grin. "What? Do I have something on my face?" She turned, and looked at Damian first. "Wow, Damian. It's been almost six months, and you still don't know how to give a girl a proper welcome."

"Tt. At least I inform my associates when I am arriving," Damian retorted, shocked from his stupor.

"Well, it's kinda hard when you only have three hours notice. I'll try harder next time." She glanced over at Tim next, the smile softening. "Hey, Tim." She walked over, and gave the boy a fierce hug.

"Hi, Babs," Tim replied, returning the gesture. Stepping back, he could see that a sad smile had replaced her previous expression. "I can't believe you found him."

"Well," Tim said, rubbing the back of his head, "that was all Jason."

Barbara turned, finally looking at Jason. There was a long moment of silence, broken only by the sounds of Barbara's footsteps. The two stared at each other for a few moments. "Long time no see, Jay," she said quietly.

"Hey, Barb," Jason said, almost sheepishly. Barbara studied his face for a moment. Then, without warning, she slapped the back of his head. Hard. The sound echoed across the cave.

"OW! What the fuck was that for?!" Jason yelled, grabbing the back of his head.

" _That_ was for being a douchebag! You come back from the dead, bring in Freeze, then disappear without a trace? That was a nice surprise. Then, your affinity for guns and violence made me a little tense. I didn't know if some mob boss got the best of you one day, and decided to gun you down. The least you could have done was called to say, 'Hey, Babs, I'm alive and well, don't worry about me. Oh, and I'm not a murdering psychopath, just in case you were wondering.'" Studying the man again, she turned away from him, and glared at all of the boys.

"I hate it when you pull that bullshit with me. Your high and mighty attitudes, 'Oh, Barbara doesn't need to know that we're all still alive and well. We're the fucking Bat family, and we're freaking invincible.'" At that, she scoffed loudly. "It pisses me off." Her heated glare halted on each of the men in the cave, and Tim shuddered when her eyes rested on him. He made a mental note never to get on Barbara Gordon's bad side.

Everyone else visibly recoiled, intimidated by the woman before them. Bruce, the first to regain his composure, cleared his throat. "We found Dick."

"Yes, I remember you mentioning that over the phone. What do you need me to do?" Barbara asked, crossing her arms over her chest.

"We need you to run surveillance with Jason, and keep tabs on us and Dick."

"Why am I not going out in the field?" she asked, cocking her head.

"Because we need a good hacker, who doesn't leave any trace, and who can flawlessly enter the camera feeds all across Gotham," Bruce replied. Barbara looked skeptical, until Bruce played his final card. "You get to access all of my files and feeds on the Batcomputer. It's yours to command for a few hours."

There was a pause as Barbara weighed her options. She had never used the Batcomputer all by herself; when she was allowed access, it was under strict supervision from Bruce, and she didn't spend more than a few minutes on the giant computer. A grin settled across her face. "I'm in. When do we start?"

"Now," Bruce replied.

* * *

 **AN: And the story continues! I really hadn't thought about bringing Babs in, but she was kinda a spur of the moment addition. I have to say, she was** ** _really_** **fun to write! Until next time!**


	11. Bat vs Bird: Round Two

**AN: I figured I owed you guys a little more, so here's two chapters in one night. Hope you enjoy! ON WITH THE CHAPTER!**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing belonging to DC, etc, etc.**

* * *

 _"I'm in. When do we start?"_

 _"Now," Bruce replied._

* * *

 ** _Gotham City  
9:30 P.M.  
A few hours after Barbara arrived..._**

"See anything?" chimed Jason's voice.

"Nothing yet," Tim replied, as he stood on the edge of a building.

"Ugh, you've been out for almost three hours now, and you _still_ haven't found anything. Either Dick is deciding to stay in hiding, or you're all _really_ bad detectives."

There was the sound of a fist hitting flesh. "OW!"

"Don't listen to Grumpy Gills over here. He's just pissed that he had to stay home," Barbara chimed in, the mirth evident in her voice. In the background, Tim could hear Jason's threat to "cut that fiery tomato hair" when Barbara least expected it.

"Anything on the camera feeds, Oracle?" Batman growled lowly. Out on Gotham's streets, Robin, Batman, and Red Robin had split up, each surveying part of the city, looking for any evidence of Dick. So far, they had found absolutely nothing.

"No, sorry. I'll keep looking."

There was an annoyed huff over the comm. "What is taking him so long?"

"Maybe he's recuperating from our scuffle in the garage. Getting beat up by the entire Bat family can knock you off your feet for a while," Tim stated.

"Maybe," came Barbara's distracted reply. There was the clacking of keys in the background.

"What do you see?" Batman's voice was cautious, but carried a tone of intrigue.

"Well, I could be hallucinating, but I thought I saw something on the corner of 24th Street."

"I'm the closest. I'll check it out," Tim stated, shooting a line towards a nearby building.

"Fine, but be careful. If you see Dick-"

"Do not engage. Don't worry, Batman, I know what to do," Tim replied. He jumped, allowing his momentum to carry him through the air. Landing on the roof, he held his rope launcher, slowly turning his head. Seeing that there was nothing from the angle he was at, he shot another line, heading east into the city.

All of sudden, there was a low whizzing sound. Tim barely had time to react before he saw the knife. It was a sharp blade, and was headed directly towards his line. He could only watch in horror as the blade moved as if in slow motion, slicing the rope thread by thread. The pull of gravity took hold, dragging his body down towards the hard pavement thirty stories below.

"RED!" Barbara cried over the comm, shocking Tim out of his stupor. Releasing his line launcher, he slammed the button on his chest, activating his wings. Spreading his arms wide, he used his momentum to shoot upwards, away from the ground.

 ** _'HOLY SHIT!'_** Tim thought to himself, trying to calm his rapid heart.

"Red Robin, are you alright?" asked Batman.

"Yeah. He's here. Almost took me out, but I managed to avoid falling-for the most part," Tim breathed, searching for a nearby roof.

"You need to land. With all the flying you're doing, you're just making yourself a bigger target," Jason warned.

Tim, spotting a roof not too far away, began to make his descent. "Oracle, do you see him?" he asked, checking his surroundings for any sign of his assailant.

"Dammit, no. He's avoiding the cameras," she growled. Tim, quickly pressing a button on his wrist, activated his mask lenses, using the detective mode to try and spot Dick. "I've got nothing on my end. It's like he just vanished."

"That would be impossible. Maybe your vision isn't as perfect as you thought it was," Damian taunted.

"Robin," Batman growled over the comm. "Not now."

Damian sighed, but did not speak again.

"I'll keep looking. He couldn't have gotten-" Tim was unable to finish his sentence, for a great mass suddenly slammed into his side. "GAH!" Tim yelled, swerving downwards, rapidly approaching the roof. Unable to properly prepare for landing, Tim and his attacker tumbled to the hard concrete, rolling as soon as they hit solid ground. In the mayhem, Tim felt a small prick in his side.

During their tumble, Tim's assailant was thrown off, flying off to another part of the roof. Unfortunately for Tim, he continued to roll, only ceasing when he had traveled at least ten feet. He laid on the roof, his ears ringing, vision swirling. "-in! Re-bin-RED!" came a cry in Tim's ear, piercing a hole through the haze. He slowly looked over towards his assailant, who was slowly rising to his feet. His blood turned to ice when he recognized the man as Dick. The older man walked slowly, and held himself at a strange angle, as if each movement caused him pain.

"Red, co-n! Ar-ou-ight?" Batman's broken voice chirped over the comm. Unfortunately, Tim was unable to focus or hear his mentor's question. Grimacing as his head throbbed, he raised a hand to his earpiece. Dick, by that time, had stumbled his way over towards Tim, and kicked his hand away from the device. Rolling onto his back, Tim began to feel the pulls of unconsciousness creep into his mind. **_'Stay awake. Might...have...a...concussion. Do. Not. Fall. Asleep,'_** he chanted in his mind. As his mind refused to cooperate, a sudden realization hit him. **_'I was drugged.'_** That would explain the inability to focus, or properly move his limbs.

Dick grabbed Tim's wrists in each hand. The younger man tried to move away, but found that his body could only move sluggishly, and with minimal movement. He felt the hard plastic of zipties cover his wrists. They were tightly bound together, which were followed by his ankles. The world continued to blacken; to Tim's dismay, the darkness began to grow, consuming his vision.

 ** _'Shit..he dosed me with a powerful sedative...'_** he sluggishly thought. **_'Gotta..try..to get through...to him...'_** As he felt Dick's hands rest on the ziptie on his wrist, he tried to speak, tongue thick in his mouth. "Dick..." he garbled, the word catching in his throat. He watched as the black ate up the last speck of light, wondering if his brother heard him as the cool embrace of unconsciousness met his mind.

* * *

"Where is he?" Batman growled into the comm. Damian, standing adjacent to the man, briefly glanced at his father. After Tim had disappeared from the comm, Batman had ordered that Robin meet up with him on the nearby roof. Once Robin had seen his father, he remained silent, for the older vigilante was a raw ball of emotions. One wrong move, and he would explode, causing mass destruction.

"I don't see him on the feeds, Bruce. Let me check his trackers," Barbara soothed, flawlessly hiding her distress.

As Barbara could be heard typing, Jason spoke. "Why take Red? What would he have to gain?"

"Leverage," Damian replied, earning him a quick glance from his father. "In the League of Assassins, if a target could not be...persuaded to cooperate, Rā would command my mother to retrieve a close family member of the target. By taking the relative hostage, the target would have no choice but to meet the League's demands. It was always an effective tactic."

Silence. "You know kid, sometimes you scare me," Jason stated.

"So, Dick took Tim as leverage. But for what?" Barbara wondered aloud.

"Oracle, check all records of a man matching Dick's descriptions in the past eight months," Batman ordered, eyes never moving from the city below.

"On it...oookkaayy, it looks like there is something..." More clacking of computer keys met the men's ears. "Alright. There's a search for a criminal known as Renegade." She hummed tunelessly as she skimmed through the data. "Not much is here, but this is what I know. He's been spotted performing low level jobs, such as roughing up small time criminals, and stealing priceless jewelry, blah, blah, blah."

A few moments of silence passed. "A-ha!" she exclaimed.

"What?" Jason asked.

"It looks like Renegade was involved in an incident in Star City three months ago. He took the acting CEO of Palmer Tech hostage, and demanded that he be given access to the building's scientific findings. Luckily, Dr. Palmer was not in the office that day." Each of the Bats understood what Barbara was implying with her statement, choosing not to focus too deeply on it.

"But...it looks like both Atom and Green Arrow showed up, defusing the situation. Renegade disappeared a few minutes after the two heroes arrived. Although nothing was initially reported stolen, a flash drive containing various test results from a new prototype was reported missing almost a month ago. They still haven't found anything."

"So he's graduated from petty theft to hostage situations with big scores," Jason remarked.

"He also didn't seem too conflicted about trying to remove your head from your shoulders, Hood," Damian remarked.

"We need to find him. To do that, we need to know where he went. Any luck with Tim's trackers?" Batman questioned, his patience beginning to fray.

"Uhhhhh...There! His device is broadcasting from Fourth and Hamilton. It's not moving." There was a small gasp. "That's odd..."

"What?" Batman growled.

"That's only a few blocks away from your location. He obviously wasn't planning to travel too far, or he's in worse shape than he wants us to believe."

"Maybe..." Batman replied. Damian picked up the suspicion his father's voice carried, but chose not to remark on it.

"Come on, Robin," Batman said, shooting a line. His son dutifully followed, silently hoping that they would be able to bring home both of his brothers home.

* * *

They finally landed on a nearby roof, scanning the harbor for any signs of activity. When they saw nothing alarming, the two heroes dropped down, and stalked over towards the glassy windows of Warehouse Eight. Sticking to the shadows, Damian wiped away the dirt and grime coating the glass, peering into the building.

"I don't see anything," he whispered, glancing at Batman from the corner of his eye. The Dark Knight nodded, and motioned with his head. Nodding, Robin silently opened the window, and dropped onto the rafters. He listened as Batman silently stalked away, looking for another entry.

Peering down below him, Damian could see an abandoned forklift, with some dusty wooden pallets, and a few faded traffic cones. "Batman, I see no one."

"Be on your guard. He is watching you, and won't hold back. Find Red Robin, then focus on Dick," Batman ordered.

Sighing in mild annoyance, Damian dropped onto the walkway below him, the metal clanging loudly in the empty building. He cringed at the noise, but quickly regained his composure. Moving as swiftly and silently as he could, he headed towards the door at the end of the walkway. The hair on the back of his neck stood up, and he whirled around, nerves singing with anticipation. When no one was spotted, he slowly turned back, never fully letting his guard down.

Damian finally reached the door. Placing a palm on the wood, he cautiously placed an ear on the door. Straining his ears, he could faintly hear a small groan. "Drake?" he whispered, hand resting on the knob. When he turned the metal, he was met with resistance. Gritting his teeth in anger, he pulled out his lock pick kit, and slid the metal into the keyhole. Within a matter of seconds, he had broken the lock, slowly opening the office door. "Drake?"he whispered again, breathing deeply when he heard a small groan in reply. Tapping the side of his mask, Damian activated his night vision. He saw Tim slumped over in a chair, his head lolling against his chest.

Striding over to Tim, Damian grabbed Tim's shoulders, and shook the older boy gently. "Drake. Drake, wake up."

"Ugh," came the reply as Tim's head slowly rose. Damian sucked in a deep breath when he saw the massive bruise on Tim's cheek. It stretched from his hairline to his jaw, deep blue and purple already beginning to color his face.

"Are you alright?" Damian asked, the words feeling weird coming out of his mouth. Tim mumbled something, but it was lost to Damian's ears.

"What?" Damian hissed, reaching into his belt, retrieving a Batarang from his utility belt.

"Behind...you..." Tim breathed. Damian froze, suddenly sensing the man's presence behind him. Already knowing who it was, he wasted no time formulating a plan in his mind. Slowly and carefully reached into his belt, withdrawing a small smoke pellet. "Grayson," he stated, injecting his voice with annoyance. In truth, his core was shaken, fear penetrating his thick armor.

"Grayson, don't be stupid. You know that Father is here, and he won't have any qualms about beating the shit out of you. And to be honest, neither would I," he said, spinning on his heel. He tried not to blanch at the sight of his older brother. Dick was obviously running low on energy, for he stood slightly stooped over, arm subconsciously curled around his ribs. His face was marked with dried blood, red and raised cuts standing out against pale skin. Damian's eyes were drawn to the wound on Dick's chest, which looked fresh. There were stitches in the wound, but they were uneven and big, as if the sewer was inexperienced.

Dick stared emotionlessly at Damian, his eyes hidden by his mask. He showed no signs of moving, his breaths the only sign he was alive. "You look like shit, Grayson. You really let Deathstroke mess you up," Damian remarked, carefully fingering the Batarang in his hand. There was no reply from Dick.

Damian stared at his brother, but flicked his eyes towards the rafters behind Dick when he saw a flash of black. Knowing that his father had finally decided to join the party, he allowed a confident smirk to cross his lips. "What are you waiting for, Grayson? An invitation? I haven't got all day."

* * *

Dick could only stare at the boy in front of him. It was Damian; same haughty look, same face. He had grown a bit since Dick last saw him. A pang of sadness pierced Dick's heart, threatening to drown him. A dark emotion swallowed the feeling, pulling the sadness deep into itself. **_'He left you. He has to die.'_** When he hesitated, his own mind turned against him. **_'You heard Deathstroke. It's either you, or him. You don't want to go back to that hellhole, do you?'  
_** A small snarl crossed his lips. He would _not_ go back to that hell, where he was shattered over and over until there was nothing but dust remaining. Trying to stand up straight, he gritted his teeth, and reached for one of the knives on his leg. As he withdrew the knife, he saw a brief flicker of fear and sadness cross Damian's face. It was gone as soon as it appeared, replaced with a cool exterior.

 ** _'I'm sorry, Damian. I'm sorry, Tim. But I can't go back,'_** Dick thought to himself as he prepared to throw the knife. However, in his weakened state, he failed to realize that he was outnumbered and outgunned. In one fluid motion, Damian raised his arm, and threw something towards the floor.

 ** _'Dammit!'_** Dick thought as the smoke pellet met the wood, releasing a thick smoke into the air, filling the room instantly. Growling inaudibly, he took a step, intending to find the youngest Wayne. He was unprepared, however, for the massive force that tackled him from the side, knocking the knife loose, sending it to the floor far below.

Dick groaned as he got up, coming face to face with his mentor. The Dark Knight stood, glaring at his oldest son. Dick, knowing he had no choice, took up an unsteady fighting pose. There were no words exchanged. Batman merely stared at Dick, taking up a similar stance. After a few moments of silence, the two lunged for each other. Dick swung his legs towards Batman's, hoping to throw his mentor off guard.

Batman dodged the blow, and drove a fist into Dick's chest. The young man's body flared with white pain as his wound was aggravated. He staggered backwards, wheezing heavily. His hand rested against his wound. He pulled it away, slightly relieved that it came away dry. "It's over, Dick," growled Batman. Dick raised his head, and glared at his mentor.

"You are outnumbered, and outmatched. Surrender, and we promise that no harm will come to you."

 ** _'He's lying. They all lie, just like him,'_** Dick thought to himself as he haphazardly threw his fist towards his mentor's face. With the cool demeanor that only Batman could possess, the vigilante easily dodged the blow. As he moved to the side, he kicked out a leg, hitting the back of Dick's knee. The young man knelt, his knee reflexively bending, leaving him open for an attack. Leaping at the opportunity, Batman wrapped his arm around Dick's throat. The man began to struggle, one hand pulling against Batman's chokehold. **_'No no no no! Not again!'_** he thought, his heart freezing in his chest.

"Stop struggling, and I'll let you go," Batman said lowly, but Dick was too lost and terrified by his own thoughts to hear him. He wriggled in Batman's arms, hoping to break free. He gasped loudly, his chest constricting further when he got little air.

Using his other arm, he threw his elbow back, striking Batman in his ribs. Unfortunately for Dick, in his weakened state, his blows were futile, Batman merely ignoring the feeble attacks. Using his free arm, Batman was able to grab Dick's other arm, and pin it behind his opponent's back. Dick felt helpless, which caused his heart to pound even more quickly in his chest.

As the two men struggled against each other, the young man's vision began to fill with dark spots. He shut his eyes, and opened them again, hoping to clear away the spots. Unfortunately, they remained, further disorienting the man. He glanced towards the office where, to his dismay, Damian was leading a still-drugged Tim towards the exit. His leverage, his brother-gone before his very eyes.

He gasped again, the sound harsh in his ears. His movements became sluggish, his body shutting down as he began to lose consciousness. Batman spoke again, although he sounded far away in his ears. "Stand down. We aren't going to hurt you."

Dick weakly shook his head in defeat. "Liar," he mouthed, but no sound came out. The last thing he saw before darkness overwhelmed him was the night sky, the stars sparkling dimly through the dirty windows above him.

* * *

 **AN: Hope you guys enjoyed! Feel free to leave a review! Until next time!**


	12. The Sound of Silence

**AN: Hey guys! Thank you so much for being patient, and asking me about updating. I've had a lot going on, including hockey and moving. Thank you so much for your continued support! You guys are amazing! Now, ON WITH THE CHAPTER!**

 **Shoutouts: Thanks to you kagome04, Dratias, jodyowl11, Bat23, Nightwingsass, and dlsky for your reviews and support! I love reading them whenever you guys post them! It really makes my day knowing that you guys are enjoying my story.**

 **Disclaimer: No tengo nada.  
**

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 _"Stand down. We aren't going to hurt you." **  
**_

 _Dick weakly shook his head in defeat. "Liar," he mouthed, but no sound came out. The last thing he saw before darkness overwhelmed him was the night sky, the stars sparkling dimly through the dirty windows above him._

* * *

 ** _The Batcave  
11:30 P.M.  
A few hours later..._**

A pounding headache. That was the first thing that Dick felt as he awoke from unconsciousness. Without opening his eyes, he laid still, trying to regain control of his senses. He groaned as the headache increased, body throbbing with dull pain. As his body slowly began to regain feeling, he noticed that a certain pressure was missing. Raising his hands, he gingerly felt his face, heart turning cold. His mask was gone.

Eyes shooting open, he was met with a dark ceiling, and a dim light. Squinting at the sudden light change, he moved his hand, blocking the bright light. Blinking a few times to clear his vision, he sat up slowly, head pounding in tandem with his heart. He hissed as his chest flared with pain. Holding a hand to his torso, he pulled his hand away, slightly relieved that it came away dry. He moved his hand down his torso, feeling the padding around his ribs. Someone had taken care of his wounds.

Looking around, he noticed that he was on a small cot, with only a fitted sheet as a cover. Swiveling his head, he saw that he had a simple plastic chair, along with a toilet.

Raising his head, his stomach dropped when he saw the glass. **_'No no no no...'_** Swallowing deeply, he struggled to control his panic. He was in a cell back at the Batcave. Glancing at the glass in front of him, he could read the backwards writing across the top: "Isolation Cell." The walls had a thick padding, occasionally broken up by some metal supporting various objects, such as a light, and a small monitor. There was a door behind him, leading to another sealed area, a possible shower location. However, it was pneumatically sealed, which made escape virtually impossible.

Wringing his hands, he noticed that his gloves were gone, along with his boots. He patted his sides, the hole in his stomach growing larger when he realized that he had been stripped of his weapons. He began to pace, mind racing, scrambling to create an escape plan.

However, his thoughts were interrupted by the sound of footsteps approaching the cell. He whipped his head around, eyes narrowing with apprehension. "Geez, you're a little jumpy today," Jason taunted, a smirk crossing his lips. He was relaxed, hands in his pockets. Dick glanced uncertainly at Jason's hidden hands. Seeing Dick's hesitance, he pulled his hands from his pockets, raising them next to his head.

He waved them, smirking when Dick relaxed slightly. Sliding his hands back into the pockets, Jason cocked his head, studying Dick. The two stared at each other, neither making a sound. Sensing that his brother wasn't in a talking mood, Jason shrugged, and began to whistle tunelessly. Walking away from the glass, he grabbed the back of a nearby chair and dragged it across the floor.

The legs screamed as the metal scraped across metal. Still whistling, Jason turned the chair in his hands, so that the back was facing the cell, and took a seat. Crossing his arms over the back of the chair, Jason rested his chin on his arms and stared at Dick. His white forelock was slicked back, the white standing out against his black hair, giving him a skunk-like appearance. The two maintained eye contact, neither moving. Jason had stopped whistling and had a pensive look on his face.

Dick, on the other hand, was tense, eyes never wavering from the man in front of him. **_'What is he waiting for?'_** Dick questioned, caution ever-present. Finally, after two minutes, Dick blinked, which earned a fist pump from Jason.

"Ha! I win!" he crowed, running a hand through his hair. Dick, confused, looked at Jason with mild curiosity. The look on Dick's face must have been amusing, for Jason let out another laugh. "It was a staring contest, genius. Since I have first watch, and you don't seem like you're in a talking mood, I decided to have a little fun."

Dick glanced at Jason again, then turned away. He studied his bare hands and feet, silently counting the numerous scars covering the skin. Jason sighed loudly. When Dick didn't react, Jason huffed and pulled out a sleek black smart phone. Sliding his finger across the screen, he tapped the device a few times and began to study the screen. Dick, relieved that Jason's attention was diverted away from him, sat down on the cot once more. Lying down, he closed his eyes and tried to silence his active mind.

The two men were happy in the silence, allowing the whirrs of machines, and fans to slowly permeate the room. Dick could feel his body slowly relaxing, entering a meditative state. "Tim's fine, by the way. Has a small concussion, but he's doing alright. Figured I would let you know." Dick's eyes shot open, an annoyed growl squashed before it could leave his throat. Lifting his head, he could see that Jason was still glued to his device, idly scrolling.

"He's got an ugly bruise across his face too. I have to say, it's an improvement." At that, Jason briefly glanced at Dick, then back to his phone. "Oh, and Demon Brat's okay too, in a way. Apparently, seeing you really shook him up." Jason glanced up from his phone again and smirked when he saw Dick looking at him. Dick quickly lowering his head, breaking his eye contact with Jason. "As for me, well, considering that you tried to kill me two nights in a row, I'm doing just ducky."

Dick still did not respond, thoughts whirling in his mind. **_'This is all just a mind game. He's trying to lower your defenses, make you weak, vulnerable.'_** Dick gritted his teeth and placed his hands on his head. He rubbed his temples in a soothing motion, trying to fight his headache.

"You're pretty fucked up, you know that?" Jason commented, clicking the phone off. He held it loosely in his hand, twirling the device in his hand. "Deathstroke did a number on you." Dick didn't move as Jason continued, "What, no quip, no sarcastic reply? You haven't said a word since we first saw you. Did Deathstroke cut out your tongue or something?"

Dick swallowed, an unbidden memory filling his mind. He struggled to hold it back, placing his hands on his face. The sharp memory burst through his mental wall, dragging him into its depths.

* * *

 _All of it was painful. His body all throbbed in tandem, his heart sending a pulse of discomfort with every beat. Groaning, he curled into himself, trying to block out his body's aches and pains. The silence was deafening, almost all noise muted by his cell. The loudest sound was the low pounding of his heart in his ears. The door of his cell barred most all outside noise, the sound barely slipping through the crack between the door and floor._

 _Breathing shallowly, he tried to sleep, his mind drifting towards darkness. Just as he was about to cross into the land of oblivion, a quiet *PING* sounded outside his cell. Dick silenced his breathing, a small sliver of hope entering his chest. After a few moments later...*PING*._

 _Eyes shooting open, Dick sat up slowly, stifling the groans that threatened to escape. "Slade?" he whispered, his battered throat slurring his words. There was no reply. He began to stand, his legs shaking from misuse. Placing a hand on the wall, he staggered over towards the door. He knelt down, body screaming as he placed an ear close to the minuscule crack._

 _Straining his ears, he could hear footsteps in the distance. "What...is...place?" came a muffled voice. Another voice replied, but it was too far away for Dick to understand. The footsteps grew louder. "Hello?" one of the voices called._

 _Dick's heart fluttered with hope. It wasn't Slade's voice that had called out. "Hello?" he coughed, the word catching in his throat. He coughed again, his throat scratchy. "Is someone there?" he called, his voice low. "Hello? Slade, is this one of your tricks?"_

 _There was silence. Then, the growing sound of approaching footsteps. "Dude, where are you going?" a voice whispered loudly._

 _"I thought I heard something," the other replied. Dick's heart soared. Someone was here. They finally found him._

 _"Who's there?" Dick's battered voice called out._

 _The footsteps stopped. For a few seconds, Dick was afraid that they didn't hear him. But, that fear was quickly extinguished when the approaching footsteps came up to his door. "Dude, we shouldn't be here!"_

 _"I definitely heard something," the deeper voice replied._

 _"Jeremy, this place is sketchy as hell. My gut's telling me that something isn't right. We need to leave."_

 _'No, no, they can't leave,' Dick thought frantically. His scratched throat ached with pain as he tried to speak again. 'Dammit, the one time when I need my voice the most.' With as much strength as he could muster, he raised a bruised hand to the door. Breathing heavily, he banged his hand on the door, three quick taps, then three slow taps, then three fast again. He waited with baited breath for a few moments, then repeated the pattern of taps._

 _"There! Don't tell me you didn't hear that!" Jeremy exclaimed, his voice right outside of the door. There was the muted sound of a hand resting against the door, skin sliding across the metal. There was the jangle of a chain, and a low curse._

 _"Dammit. It's locked. Greg, did you bring your lockpick?"_

 _"When do I not have it?" Greg scoffed. There was the shuffling of footsteps, and the quiet clink as a pick entered the lock. As Greg fiddled with the lock, Dick could hear Jeremy stepping up close to the door._

 _"Is someone in there?" he faintly asked, his voice low through the door._

 _Dick's breath caught in his throat. They were real. They were going to get him out. "Yes. Who's there?" Dick answered, raising his voice slightly to be heard through the door._

 _Jeremy gasped in amazement. A step, then the sound of flesh hitting cloth. "See, dude, I told you that someone was here!"_

 _"Yeah, yeah. Now let me finish this," came Greg's reluctant reply. Dick heard Jeremy's feet turn back towards the door. "Hey, whoever's in there. I'm Jeremy, and the other guy is Greg."_

 _"Well, it's nice to meet you, Jeremy and Greg. You're the first normal people I've heard in a long time," Dick replied, shifting himself into a more comfortable position._

 _"How long have you been down here?" Jeremy questioned._

 _"I honestly don't know," Dick replied, gritting his teeth as a wave of pain passed through._

 _"Jesus." Greg didn't comment, continuing to work on the lock._

 _"Ha!" he finally said, accompanied by a final *CLINK* as the lock opened. "Yes! Ha ha! Haven't lost my touch yet,' Greg crowed._

 _"Dude, you're amazing!" Jeremy said. "Hey, we're going to get you out of here!"_

 _Dick smiled with relief. "That's good to hear. And I thought you were going to leave me all by myself again."_

 _"I wouldn't count on it. C'mon, Greg, let's open it."_

 _As the two men moved to open the door, Dick could feel his body thrumming with a newfound energy. The low screech of metal reached his ears as the door was slowly opened. But, as soon as it started, it stopped. "What-" Greg began to say, but was forcefully cut off. He expelled a heavy breath, followed by a quick shriek._

 _"Greg!" Jeremy cried. A thud followed, and he went quiet as well._

 _"Greg? Jeremy?" Dick whispered, fear quickly returning to his body. The door slowly opened, a shadowed figure entering the room. "No," Dick whispered as the mysterious man approached him. There was a flash of pain in his temple, then darkness._

* * *

 _"Wake up." The strike was hard and painful. Dick shot awake, his chest pounding. He tried to speak but found that his mouth was covered with duct tape. He breathed rapidly, trying to calm his erratic heart. He let out a terrified sound as a hand gripped his hair, and jerked his head up. In the corner of his eye, he could see his tormentor. The man's face was a mask of cold fury, his single eye hard._

 _Without a word, he directed Dick's head forwards, forcing Dick to look in front of him. What he saw would haunt him for nights to come. In front of him knelt two men, both gagged, their wrists tied behind them. The one on the left had a swollen eye, blood running down his cheek. He wore a grey beanie and a ratty hoodie. The other man had a bruised cheek, looking fearfully at him. He had brown hair and wore a zip-up hoodie and a white t-shirt. They were in a dark room, the brick colored darkly with age. There was a single light bulb, the source of light in the room._

 _"Jeremy and Greg Capulo. Two brothers looking for a place to get high, stumbled into something that doesn't concern them." Slade's voice was mocking and cruel, sending chills down Dick's spine. "You brought them here, Dick. You led them to this situation. And now they must pay for interfering."_

 _At that, the two men began writhing against the binds, muffled cries escaping past the gags. "SHUT UP!" Slade roared, letting go of Dick's hair, silencing the men. With a forceful tug, Slade ripped the tape from Dick's mouth. Breathing heavily, Dick licked the blood from his lips._

 _"Slade, you don't have to do this. They didn't do anything! Punish me, but don't hurt them. Please," Dick pleaded._

 _Slade ignored him and stalked over to behind the men. They both hunched into themselves, silent tears running down their faces. Slade unsheathed his sword, the blade shimmering in the low light. Seeing the blade exposed, Dick felt a cold wave pass through his body. "Slade, you don't have to do this. Just let them go, they won't say anything."_

 _Slade placed the blade against Jeremy's back, the sharp tip resting against the hoodie. "Slade, please! Don't-!" Dick cried, pulling against his wrists. With an effortless thrust, Slade drove the blade through Jeremy's chest, piercing his heart. Greg cried out, the tears falling more freely. "No!" Dick cried, his voice filling the small room._

 _Impassively, Slade withdrew the blade and moved behind Greg. "Slade, don't! Don't!" Dick cried out._

 _"This is what happens when you ask others for help. You killed them, Dick," Slade growled, placing his blade on Greg's back. As Greg sobbed, he looked into Dick's eyes. His face was full of terror. As he studied his face, Dick could see another emotion. It was hate and blame. "I'm sorry," Dick said, his voice breaking as Slade drove the blade home._

 _Dick said nothing as Slade withdrew the blade, Greg's lifeless body falling over beside his brother's. **'This was all your fault, Grayson. By talking and asking for help, you hurt others.**_ You _**killed them.'** He didn't look as Slade walked over to him. Flicking the blood off of the blade, Slade sheathed the weapon and stood next to Dick._

 _"You brought this upon them, and yourself. If you ever make another sound again, I will not be afraid to cut your vocal cords, and kill the others you lead here." At that, Slade left the room, leaving Dick to peer at the bodies before him, and wallow in his pain and remorse._

* * *

"Goldie! Hey, Dick!" Jason cried. Dick opened his eyes again and glanced at his brother. "Damn, I guess I really am boring. I put you right to sleep," Jason scoffed, his tone carefree. However, his eyes were filled with concern. _'Damn,'_ Dick thought. _'He knows I was somewhere else.'_

"I guess I have to learn how to be more lively with my conversations." Dick rolled his eyes, twisting onto his side, his back to Jason. Curling his legs, he pulled his knees to his chest, folding into himself.

"I guess this means that you don't want to talk anymore. Well," Jason said, sighing, and standing up. He flipped the chair around, the seat facing Dick's cell. "I'll just sit here until it's the Brat's turn to take over."

Dick ignored him as best as he could, closing his eyes against the low lighting. Outside of his cell, Jason began to whistle again, the tuneless music filling the cave. Dick, beginning to relax, fell asleep to the sound of his brother's whistle in the air.

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 **AN: Thank you so much for reading and reviewing! I've had this chapter in my head forever, and I spent a long time making sure it was perfect! I hope you guys enjoyed! Until next time!**


	13. Back at Panessa

**AN: Well...I guess I have some explaining to do. I feel SO terrible for making you wait so long for this new update. It's a long story, so I'll give you the abbreviated version: ice hockey, school, and sleep. That's all there is to it. I dug out some writing time here and there, and I** ** _FINALLY_** **managed to get this chapter done, but it took me a long time to do it. I'm just so tired that I find it difficult to write** ** _good_** **chapters for you guys. I hope this is okay. If you have any suggestions where you want this to go or have any questions, feel free to leave a review or PM me! Thank you so much for your patience, and thank you to all the readers who Favorited and Followed my story! I love you guys; your support is absolutely amazing! Now, ON WITH THE CHAPTER!  
**  
 **Disclaimer: You know the drill.**

* * *

 _Dick ignored him as best as he could, closing his eyes against the low lighting. Outside of his cell, Jason began to whistle again, the tuneless music filling the cave. Dick, beginning to relax, fell asleep to the sound of his brother's whistle in the air._

* * *

 ** _The Batcave_**

 ** _1:30 A.M._**

 _"Damian...help me..."_

 _"Grayson?" Damian was standing in a dark room, a single light illuminating his surroundings. He was in a dark area, with no visible walls or doors. Standing on a blackened piece of concrete, Damian strained his ears, trying to hear any distinguishable noises._

 _"Damian..." Grayson's voice was faint and filled with pain. Damian whirled around, trying to locate the source of his brother's cry. "Grayson!" he cried again, voice sounding timid in his own ears. For a few moments, all Damian could hear was the sound of his own breath. Then, off in the distance, there was a cry of pain._

 _Damian's heart stuttered at the sudden noise. Without a second thought, he raced off into the darkness, his other senses taking over for his sight. "Grayson!"_

 _"Damian..." Grayson's voice sounded closer. Damian ran for all his worth, legs pumping furiously, chest heaving with each breath. "Damian!"_

 _Damian stopped, confusion overtaking his thoughts. 'He should be right here,' he thought to himself. The room was pitch black suddenly illuminating as a light flicked on. Eyes quickly adjusting to the sudden onslaught, what Damian saw would chill his blood. Dick, his arms bound behind him, was kneeling on the concrete, his eyes cast downward. "Grayson," Damian breathed, reaching a hand towards Dick._

 _The older man raised his head, and Damian could not stop his breath from hitching. Dick's face was littered with numerous cuts, the blood running down his face. He was discolored with bruises, raccoon eyes dark against his pale skin. His domino mask was torn, a single blue orb filled with pain and fear, stared at Damian. "Dami," Dick gurgled, his words thick with liquid. A single line of red ran out of the corner of his mouth, dripping off of his chin and onto the floor._

 _ **"You left him,"** a loud disembodied voice said._

 _'What the hell?' Damian thought._

 _ **"Because of your negligence, your brother will die. He will die alone, and he will die broken."** At those words, Dick's eyes widened in fear, and he began to weakly struggle. "Damian, help me," he said, his voice heavy with poorly concealed fear._

 _Damian moved to help Dick but found that his entire body was immobile. He struggled and fought with all his might, but he could not move a single muscle. He could only watch in horror as Deathstroke emerged from the darkness beside Dick. "The littlest brat has done nothing to help you, Richard. He left you with me for fourteen months, never once coming to your aid. Even now, he makes no move to help you." His voice was haughty, echoing deeply in the room. Although his face was masked, Damian could sense that the mercenary had a smirk on his face._

 _"Goodbye, little Wayne." Without another word, Deathstroke grabbed Dick's hair, pulling the man towards the darkness._

 _"No! No!" Dick cried, teeth gritted in pain, voice high as fear began to overcome his other emotions. "Damian! DAMIAN!"_

 _"Grayson!" Damian cried, his struggle against his invisible bonds renewed. They still would not give. "GRAYSON!"_

* * *

Damian shot up in bed, the dream jarring him from his sleep. For a few moments, he was disoriented, heart beating furiously in his chest. Sweat plastered his hair to his forehead, and his shirt stuck to his chest. As he grew accustomed to his surroundings, he was calmed by the sight of the temporary room set up. He was in one of Batman's many safe houses; the one he was in was the old Panessa Movie Theater. _'It was only a dream,'_ he thought as he tried to reassure himself. However, he couldn't stop hearing Grayson's pained cries for help echoing over and over in his head.

Grumbling at himself, he threw the sheets off of his body and strode into the bathroom. He flicked the light on, and let the water run in the sink. Cupping his hands, he threw the water onto his face, washing the sweat away. He peered at his own reflection, growling at the sight of the dark bags under his eyes. Flicking the light off in irritation, he went back into his room.

Grabbing a fresh t-shirt and a black hoodie, he stripped his sweaty shirt off of his body and threw it in the corner. Leaving the room, he walked into the hallway and headed towards the quarantine cells. His mind lingered on the dream, Grayson's face etched into his mind's eye. The scene played over and over, the same feeling of helplessness enveloping his body.

Shaking his head, he dispelled the dark thoughts and focused on creating an emotionless mask. _'I can't let Todd see me rattled. He would never let it go.'_ Reaching the sealed doors, Damian withdrew a hand from the pocket of his hoodie and placed it on the pad. **'Voice confirmation required.'** "Damian Wayne."

 **'Voice confirmed.'** At that, the door cracked open, the pneumatic seal breaking, air hissing through the door. Moving the heavy metal, Damian slipped through, shutting the door behind him. In front of him, he could see Jason sitting the in the middle of the room, leaning back in his chair. At the sound of Damian's footsteps, Jason turned his head. "Well, look who rolled out of bed. What's up, short pants?"

"Tt. I've come to relieve you, Todd."

Jason looked down at his watch, smirking at the younger boy. "You're three hours early. You'd never take over when you know I'd be bored outta my skull." He remained sitting as Damian walked towards him. Damian turned his head and saw Grayson's still form lying on the cot. "He's not really in a talking mood," Jason said wryly, rising and towering over Damian.

"That's a surprise. Grayson would never back down from an opportunity to talk your ears off."

"Yeah. He'll probably thaw out, or sit there like a rock," Jason replied, stretching his arms over his head. He yawned and said, "Well, I need a shower and a good four hours of sleep." He began to stalk away. "If you need anything, you know who to call."

"It's not going to be you," Damian said.

"Ha! There's the Damian we all know and hate!" Jason laughed, and turned to look at Damian. "Maybe your joyful personality will help Goldie find his voice."

"You only wish, Todd," Damian shot back, his heart alleviated slightly at the familiar banter between himself and Jason.

"Ha! Don't stay up past your bedtime, little Demon. I've heard it's not good for growing boys such as yourself." At that, Jason left, the only sound signaling his departure was the heavy metal door closing with a loud clang.

 _'I guess it's just me and Grayson now.'_ With a sigh, Damian plopped down on the chair, crossing his arms across his chest, and stared at the cell. Grayson laid sideways on the cot, his knees and arms pulled towards his chest, resting in a fetal position. He made no movement as Damian sat down. "Grayson," Damian said after a few moments of silence.

Dick made no sound, still sleeping. "Grayson." There was another pause. " **Grayson,"** Damian growled, putting every ounce of irritation and power he could into his voice. Slowly, Dick's unmasked face rose a few inches, a single blue eye peering into sharp green eyes. They stared at each other for a few moments.

Damian could see the caution in Grayson's eye, studying his every move. Stifling the growing emotion in his chest, the youngest Wayne set his lips in a small frown, glaring right back. "What are you staring at, Grayson?"

For a moment, quick as a blink of an eye, Damian saw a minuscule twitch in Grayson's lips. But, as soon as it appeared, Dick crushed it, returning to his stony mask _'So, he isn't emotionless after all.'_ Smirking internally, Damian settled into the chair, arms crossed over his chest. This was going to be interesting.

* * *

 ** _2:45 A.M.  
A few hours later..._**

There had been no words spoken between the two brothers for over an hour. Damian had merely sat there, staring at the cell, while Dick had fallen back into a light sleep. Sighing in irritation, Damian checked his watch. As the pale screen lit up, he blew air through his nose, and crossed his arms over his chest. _'At this rate, I'm never going to going to gain any information.'_ Damian smirked at the thought that popped into his head. _I think it's time to see what really pushes Grayson's buttons.'_

"Are you trying to practice silence, Grayson? Because if you are, you're doing remarkably well." Damian carefully watched Dick, looking for physical cues. Seeing no reaction, Damian continued. "I wonder, how long did it take for you to break? A day, a week? Knowing you, I'm surprised if you even lasted a month." At that, Dick's eyes shot open, sitting up straight on the cot. His body was taut with hidden anger, but his face remained passive. _'Good, I'm riling him up now.'_ Although Damian hated saying the horrible things about his older brother, he knew it was the only way to get some sort of response from him.

"No wonder you ended up becoming Deathstroke's _apprentice_ \- you're a weakling. A disgrace to what we stand for, what we fight for." _'Lies, lies, lies,'_ Damian mentally said. He couldn't the strength say the words aloud. He funneled his anger and worry that had been stored up for fourteen months into his words. He stared as his brother slowly stood, watching as Dick turned his back to the youngest Wayne. Damian was close now; he decided to step it up a notch.

"Did Deathstroke break you so easily that you rolled over like a lovesick puppy, waiting for a belly rub?" Dick was pacing now, hands worrying his hair and face. "The Grayson I know would spit in Deathstroke's face and tell him to go screw himself. The Grayson I know wouldn't give up on his family and friends, and willingly follow a criminal like Wilson. The Grayson I know isn't a **coward.** "

There was a loud **THUD** , along with the slight sound of cracking glass. Damian smirked as he looked at the fist planted against the cell's window. Dick had whirled around and punched the surface with all his might. Tiny fissures had formed around Dick's fist, but he barely made a dent in the cell's thick glass. _'Finally.'_ Damian smirked as Dick glanced down at his own hand, and pulled it away slowly. "Well, at least you haven't lost your physical prowess. For a moment there, I was worried that you had gone soft too."

Dick curled his lip in an angry grimace, turning his back to Damian once again. "What, did I hurt your feelings? Well, boo-hoo, princess. Maybe you should learn how to stand up for yourself."

Dick glared at Damian. In his eyes, unbridled anger roiled in the blue orbs. _'C'mon. Say_ _ **something,'**_ Damian silently pleaded. But his prayers went unanswered. Dick still didn't say a single word, turning his back once again to Damian. The youngest Wayne felt defeated. "WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?!" he cried out, startling Grayson. He could feel the prick of tears behind his eyes; however, he ignored it.

"What did he do to you?" Damian could feel the frustration and anger slowly ebbing from his body, replaced by worry and guilt. "Did you give up on us so quickly, even though we _never_ stopped looking for you?" Dick didn't respond, but Damian could see a blank look crossing his face.

"Father, Alfred, Drake, Gordon, Todd...they never gave up. _I_ never gave up." Damian felt a brief sense of vulnerability as the words passed his lips, but he squashed it. Grayson needed to hear something other than hate and anger for once. "When we found out Wilson took you, we tore the world apart, tracking down every lead, no matter how minor it was." Damian could remember like it was yesterday, how relentless Bruce was, barely sleeping, barely eating. "It tore us all apart. Even the League got involved for a while." He took a deep breath, settling his nerves. "Eventually the trail went cold, but Father never quit. He never stopped; for **fourteen months** we never stopped."

Dick did not reply, his body motionless. He wordlessly watched his brother as he continued to speak. "We want to help you, Grayson. But we can't do that if you won't let us." Damian looked down at the metal floor, the tears blurring his vision. _'Pull yourself together,'_ his mother's voice said, echoing in his mind. Sniffing deeply, he wiped his eyes on his sleeve and stared at his brother. "Let us help you, Dick."

Dick bit his lip and stared at his feet. For a few moments, neither man made a move. Then, the older man moved up to the glass, maybe a few feet away. Damian silently took a step forward, mirroring Grayson. They stared at each other for a few moments. Then, Dick mouthed something. "I'm sorry."

"Grayson-" Damian said, but was cut off as Dick delivered a powerful kick to the fractured glass. With a crash that filled the entire cave, the thick glass shattered, peppering Damian with glass shrapnel. Crying out in surprise, Damian crossed his arms, shielding his face. _'Dammit!'_ Alarms began blaring as the glass sprayed across the room. Dick helped Bruce construct the Studio; as a result, he knew the weak points of the glass and cells. Also, having been trained by the greatest combatant in the world, he possessed strength that was almost superhuman.

Damian felt a large body push him to the ground, pinning him for a moment. He gasped, caught off guard, the wind expelled from his chest. Dick had knocked him to the floor, subduing him in a matter of seconds. However, Dick made no move to incapacitate Damian. As soon as he toppled Damian, he bolted, disappearing towards the exit. Damian, having regained some of his breath, cried out, "Computer, emergency lockdown, code Delta, Charlie, Alpha!"

 **Activating lockdown protocol.** The sound of shifting metal gave Damian a small bit of relief. Thick metal doors had dropped down, sealing anyone from getting in or out of the Studio. Rolling onto his knees, he stood, clicking his earpiece. "Todd, are you there?" He studied the cell area, and growled in frustration. Dick had disappeared, hiding somewhere in the building.

Still receiving no reply from Jason, he tried his comm again. "Todd. Wake up."

There was a low growl. "The fuck you want, Damian? This had better be good." Jason's voice was thick with sleep. Normally, Damian would be relishing in Jason's discomfort, but now was not the time for petty disputes.

"He's out, Todd. Grayson's escaped his cell."

" **WHAT?!"** Jason exclaimed, the grogginess disappearing. "How did he do that?!"

"I'll explain later. Right now, I have the Studios on emergency lockdown, but he's disappeared."

"Well, go find him! I'll call Bruce. We'll be there in less than five minutes." There was a loud click, Jason's comm disconnected. Letting loose a string of Arabic curses, Damian walked over to the computer. Activating the keyboard, he began typing rapidly, pulling up the security feeds, along with the motion sensors. ' _Where did you go?'_

Damian knew he had little time to find Grayson. With Dick's knowledge of the Studios, he could easily find an escape route. With the emergency lockdown in place, he would be delayed, but he would soon find a way around the programming. If he escaped before Bruce and Jason showed up, they would lose him again. But this time, they would never get him back. It was a race against time, one they could ill afford to lose.

* * *

 **AN: Damian's in deep shit, isn't he? Feel free to follow, favorite, review, and follow! You are all awesome! Until next time!**


	14. Splitting Up

**AN: HAPPY NEW YEAR! See, I told you I would be back ;). Now, this may be the only update for a while, but always know that I am NOT abandoning this. I also wanted to say thank you for being so patient and caring! All of the reviews you guys sent made my day :). Now, I hope you guys enjoy! ON WITH THE CHAPTER!**

 **Disclaimer: You know the drill.**

* * *

 _"Well, go find him! I'll call Bruce. We'll be there in less than five minutes." There was a loud click, Jason's comm disconnected. Letting loose a string of Arabic curses, Damian walked over to the computer. Activating the keyboard, he began typing rapidly, pulling up the security feeds, along with the motion sensors. "Where did you go?'_

 _Damian knew he had little time to find Dick. With Dick's knowledge of the Studios, he could easily find an escape route. With the emergency lockdown in place, he would be delayed, but he would soon find a way around the programming. If he escaped before Bruce and Jason showed up, they would lose him again. But this time, they would never get him back. It was a race against time, one they could ill afford to lose._

* * *

 ** _Outside of Panessa Studio  
3:15 A.M.  
A few moments later..._**

To any passerby, the roof of Panessa Studio was abandoned, as the studio had not been used in years. However, if one took the time to peer through the shroud of mist covering the Studio and adjacent buildings, they would be able to make out the faint form of a man perched on a wire. One might think it a trick of the eyes, and ignore the shadow, continuing on their way. This is what the man was counting on. He knew if he sat motionlessly, those who happened to look up at him would assume they were just seeing things, confused by the mist.

Looking wordlessly at his wrist, the man could see a singular dot, blipping quietly on the screen. The man allowed his lips to perk in a small smirk, the patch over his eye moving as his cheeks briefly twitched. Placing a hand to his ear, the man spoke, his deep voice grating in the quiet air. "Wintergreen, the device is active. It seems that our modifications did not hamper its functionality."

"Excellent news, sir," came the dry reply.

"Prepare for phase two," the man said, rising into a full stance. Looking one final time at the red door that served as the entrance to the Studio, he turned on his heel and disappeared like a wraith into the mist.

* * *

 ** _Inside Panessa Studio  
3:20 A.M.  
After waiting for what seemed like an eternity..._**

Damian was getting impatient. He _hated_ waiting for backup. His twitchiness was fueled by the adrenaline running through his system, his senses on high alert after Dick's escape into the studio. He paced across the floor with short strides, his feet silently hitting the floor. _'Where the hell are they?'_ he irritably thought.

Finally, after what seemed like hours, the sound of sliding metal signaled the arrival of his father and Todd. The two men hurried into the Studio, the door heavily closing behind them. Damian, annoyed, stopped pacing and crossed his arms over his chest, a scowl twisting his lips.

"Took you long enough," Damian spat. Jason did not reply, although a quip was barely held back. It was Bruce who replied to his son's comment. "What happened?"

"Somehow, through means that I am struggling to understand, Grayson escaped his cell." He glanced at his father's face, hidden by the cowl. However, Damian could sense the swirling storm of emotions the man was hiding. "I wouldn't have called you here if it wasn't important."

"Obviously," Jason dryly replied. "So how _did_ Goldie get past the Heir to the Demon?"

Damian gritted his teeth but ignored the comment (for now). "I was trying to get something out of him, but he wasn't talking. I must have struck a nerve, and he punched the glass. It held, but before I could do anything else, he struck it again, causing the door to shatter," Damian said, slight disbelief lacing his voice. "He caught me off-guard and slammed me to the floor. For a few seconds, I was disoriented. However, before he could make it out of the building, I activated the emergency lockdown, sealing myself and him inside the Studio."

"Damn. You must've really pissed him off," Jason remarked, a low whistle passing his lips. "It's been, what, at least a few years since Dickie punched through something." Jason let out a small chuckle. "I remember this one time when we were out on patrol. After a few hours, we stumbled across a drug exchange. Of course, we broke it up and managed to snag one of the perps. We tried to find out where the supplier was, but the douche wouldn't give us a straight answer. I was ready to blow the guy's brains out."

At that, he paused for a second, waiting for Bruce's reaction. When he didn't see one, Jason continued with his tale. "The guy got lucky; Goldie got so pissed that he actually punched the brick wall next to the asshole's face, leaving a crater the size of a bowling ball. The rat nearly shit himself and told us everything. The best part-Dick's hand was completely fine." A small smirk crossed Jason's face.

Damian snorted. "Tt, I don't think it's story-time, Todd."

"Hey, at least I'm not the one who let our brother escape from a cell with an 8-inch glass wall serving as the only entrance and exit."

Damian opened his mouth to release a fiery jab back, but was silenced by, "Enough." The gruff voice commanded attention, and the two partners of the Dark Knight gave it.

Bruce turned to Damian, his eyes shining behind the white lenses. "Do you know where he went?"

"No, but he couldn't have gotten far," Damian replied, a twinge of guilt piercing his mind. Without another word, Bruce, who was still in costume, glided over to the Batcomputer, quickly activating the many camera feeds. The two younger men glared at each other for a second before joining Bruce at the computer.

"I don't see him," Jason stated after a few moments of intense silence.

"Neither do I," Damian grudgingly agreed.

"He's in here somewhere," Bruce replied. After another few moments of thick quiet, Bruce spoke again. "Jason and Damian, check Stage A and C. No splitting up either." When they began to protest, Bruce silenced them with a wave of his hand. "Dick is unstable. There's no telling what he will do if he decides to attack."

"We can handle him," Damian angrily stated.

"Clearly," Bruce deadpanned, peering at his son. The two glared at each other, Jason standing to the side. Father and son remained motionless for a few moments before Damian let loose an angry sigh, and looked away.

"Fine." The word was short and brisk.

"Where are you going?" Jason questioned, finally entering the conversation.

"I'm going to investigate Studio B. Keep your comms on at all times. Contact me immediately if you see Dick. And whatever you do, do not underestimate him. It would be a deadly mistake."

* * *

After his two sons disappeared into the Studio, their hushed argument fading in his ears, Bruce turned his eyes back to the screen before him. He watched the camera, waiting for a flicker of movement, a flash of a face, anything hinting at his eldest's location. The haunted house set was eerily silent, the many cobwebs fluttering slightly in the low breeze. The lights flickered in tandem with the thunder booms, casting the room into a temporary darkness. Remaining motionless, he allowed his eyes to scan the screen. _'Where are you?'_ Bruce thought to himself.

Just when Bruce was about to shut the screen off in frustration, a small flicker of movement crossed the corner of the screen. It was not the movement of cloth, nor the flicking of the lights; it was something else. Bruce thinned his lips into a tight line. Without another word, he began to make his way into Stage B.

* * *

 _'Shit. I can't get out,'_ Dick thought as he hid in the rafters of the Haunted House. If he had just been quicker, is he had just been more ruthless, then he wouldn't be in this mess. His body shuddered, the thought of failure dredging old memories to the surface. He swallowed deeply, putting up barriers in his mind; he couldn't risk being consumed by a flashback.

He felt naked without his mask and gear. There was no way he could go toe-to-toe with Bruce and win. Grimacing, he peered around the Stage, looking for anything useful to have as a weapon. Spying an abandoned metal pipe, he began to make his way towards the floor. His bare feet shivered slightly at the cold surface as he touched the tile. He ignored the feeling of increasing dread in his stomach as he grabbed the old pipe.

As soon as he palmed the rough metal, the hair on his neck stood up on end. Peering into the darkness, Dick's eyes widened with fear. As quick as lightning, he scurried to the top of the stage sets, concealing himself in the shadows. He warily watched as Batman strode slowly into the Stage Area. Tightening his grip on the pipe, he mentally and physically prepared himself for the impending conflict.

* * *

 **AN: And the incoming storm is about to hit...Hope you guys enjoy! Until next time!**


	15. Enter, Stage B

**AN: Haha, I bet you weren't expecting two chapters in one night! This is my late present to my dedicated readers! Love you all! Now, ON WITH THE CHAPTER!**

 **Disclaimer: Must I repeat myself a hundred times?**

* * *

 _As soon as he palmed the rough metal, the hair on his neck stood up on end. Peering into the darkness, Dick's eyes widened with fear. As quick as lightning, he scurried to the top of the stage sets, concealing himself in the shadows. He warily watched as Batman strode slowly into the Stage Area. Tightening his grip on the pipe, he mentally and physically prepared himself for the impending conflict._

* * *

 _ **Stage B  
**_ _ **3:30 A.M.  
**_ _ **A few moments later...**_

Bruce silently entered the Stage, stepping fully into the pathway leading to the center set. He slowly surveyed the entire set, looking for any hint of Dick. "Dick, I know you're out there," he said, his deep voice echoing throughout the room. There was no reply.

Thunder rumbled as the light flickered, and the room temporarily darkened. Once the light had returned, Dick was still nowhere to be found. "Dick. We can help you," Bruce tried again. Still, he was met with silence. Striding silently around the sets, he continued to be on high alert.

He decided to try one final time to draw Dick out of hiding. "Nightwing, I just-" Before he could finish, Bruce had to avoid the metal object hurling towards the back of his skull. Smoothly evading the blow, Bruce reached into his belt and quickly extending his collapsible escrima stick. Spinning around on the ball of his foot, he swung his arm out, catching the second blow from the metal pipe.

As he studied his son's face, he could see the many scars he was once blind to littered across Dick's face. Many emotions passed through his son's uncovered eyes: fear, anger, guilt, sadness, confusion. There were all soon shielded away, Dick burying his feelings deep within himself. "Nightwing," Bruce tried again.

"That's not my name," came the almost-silent reply. Bruce's heart cracked as the first words Dick had spoken to him in over fourteen months was a rejection of his own superhero identity. Dick broke contact between the two weapons, taking strides away from his mentor. His bare feet were pale in the light, and Bruce could see healing scabs where nails should have been. "Dick," he breathed, unable to form the right words.

Dick did not reply as he leapt forward, engaging Bruce once again. However, unlike in the parking garage, Bruce was ready. Without breaking a sweat, Bruce caught the metal bar with his escrima stick. Twisting the weapon in his hand, he moved the metal bar, forcing Dick to rotate his wrist into an uncomfortable position. Striking with his open hand, he hit Dick's twisted wrist, effectively causing the younger man to drop his weapon.

Dick let out a cry of surprise, flipping backward onto his hands. Using his feet, he kicked upward, attempting to strike Bruce in the face. Unfortunately, Bruce crossed his arms, effectively blocking the blow. He raised an arm back and punched, hitting Dick in the sternum. As the younger man struggled to regain his breath, he felt a strong hand grip the front of his shirt.

At the touch, he panicked, writhing in the man's grip. "Dick, stop!" Bruce's voice cried out, but he could barely discern the concern in the words. Sending a fist towards the man, he was met with his fist hitting flesh and the sound of breath expelled from a man's chest. The fist loosened its hold, and Dick squirmed free. Panting heavily, Dick backed up onto the center stage, which the two men had unconsciously made their way towards during their scuffle.

Bruce watched as Dick's gaze bounced around the room, looking for any route of escape. Knowing that he was going to be unable to get through to the man through battle, he slowly raised his hands next to his head. Dick's eyes widened in surprise but quickly hid his shock underneath a blank mask. Without a word, Bruce gripped the sides of his cowl, peeling the material off of his face.

"Dick, it's me. I'm not going to harm you," Bruce said, his voice uncharacteristically soft. To his dismay, the younger man shook his head. "You're not with him anymore. You're safe. We can help you."

Dick had slowly relaxed out of a fighting position but was still tense. He shook his head again, sadness and betrayal overtaking his features. "You've helped enough," he quietly said. He still did not raise his voice above a low whisper, as if he was afraid of being caught speaking.

Bruce, taken aback by the comment, looked quizzically at Dick. "What do you mean, Dick? We searched for you for months-"

"You **_LEFT_** me!" The shout, filled with pain, sadness, and many other emotions ripped right through Bruce. Dick's face was marred with pain, the many and minuscule scars flushed with red. Bruce could barely speak, the shock was so great.

"Dick, we looked _everywhere_ for you-"

"You _abandoned_ me! I _saw_ you, heard you. I was so relieved. You had found me." Dick's betrayal-filled eyes pierced every shield Bruce possessed. "I even called your name." He let out a humorless laugh. "For a moment, I thought you wouldn't hear me because my throat was so hoarse. But then you came right up next to my cell. Batman was here, and I was going to go home.

But you ignored me and walked right past me. I screamed even though I knew I would be punished for using my voice. I foolishly thought you would rescue me." Dick glared at Bruce. "Well, I guess I was wrong. You continued walking and you left me with _him._ "

The last part of Dick's recollection was whispered, the fear and pain tangible throughout the entire set. Bruce was at a loss for words. Silently, he wracked his brain, frantically searching through his memories. "I don't know what you're talking about, Dick," Bruce responded finally. He was at a loss; he would never leave his eldest son in the hands of one of the world's deadliest Assassin-especially one who held grudges until death.

"Yes, you do! You're lying! You always lie, always the ever-stoic Batman. You've only cared about yourself! You only used me to play along with your sick, twisted lifestyle!" Dick's eyes filled with unspilled tears.

"That is not true, Dick! None of that is true!" Bruce yelled back. "Deathstroke twisted you, tortured you, hurt you! Whatever he said to you, whatever he showed you, they are all lies!"

"No! I _saw you_!" Dick adamantly said, his hands rising to press on his temples. His eyes were screwed tightly shut as if the words were causing him physical pain.

"We would never leave you, Dick! We would never leave you with Slade!"

"Liar!" Dick cried, the tears now blazing paths down the ebony's cheeks.

"Alfred, Jason, Tim, Damian, Barbara-everyone looked for you, Dick. If there was even a one percent chance of finding you, we took it. We tore the world apart, tracking down every lead, every whisper, to find you."

"I-I don't believe you!" Dick cried again, his hands shaking as he pressed harder against his skull.

"Dick," Bruce said, watching the man in front of him. Taking a few tentative steps forward, he moved towards Dick. Pausing for a few seconds, he waited for any defensive movements. When he didn't see any, he continued to close the gap between himself and the young ebony. After a few tense moments, Bruce was mere feet away from Dick. Stopping, Bruce looked at his son. He did not touch him, even though every fiber of his being screamed out to embrace his son. "Dick, I'm sorry."

Dick cautiously peered at the man before him, hands shielding much of his face. The bright blue eyes once filled with life and light were now dull with fear and pain. Bruce's voice was thick was sadness as he spoke. "I'm so sorry I wasn't there for you."

Dick still did not move. "I failed. I failed as a mentor, I failed as a father, and I failed to protect my son. But," Bruce said, new found determination filling his voice. "Deathstroke will never go near you again."

"Bruce..." Dick whispered, his voice cracking. He opened his mouth to say something but stopped as his eyes widened in fear. "No no no, not now..." He gritted his teeth, groaning as he slowly sank to the floor.

"Dick? Dick, what's wrong?" Bruce frantically asked. He received an answer as Dick suddenly cried out in pain, collapsing entirely to the floor. His hands were still firmly planted on the sides of his head, but his entire body was violently convulsing. Rushing to Dick's side, Bruce grabbed Dick's wrists, trying to stabilize his writhing body. Dick cried out again, the sound grating in Bruce's ears. He placed Dick's head in his lap, holding his neck and head stable. "Jason, Damian, come in!"

"What it is?" Jason's asked.

"I need you to call Alfred now. Tell him to come to Panessa Studio immediately."

"Why, what's wrong? Did you find Dick?" came Jason's worried reply.

"Yes, I found him. He's having a seizure."

"What?!"

"Just do it, Jason!" Bruce commanded. Dick was still writhing in his grip, moans of pain escaping his mouth. He struggled against Bruce's grip, but he held fast.

"Damian, are you there?" Bruce asked.

"Yes, Father," Damian's shaken voice said.

"I need you to call Barbara. Tell her she needs to get to the Manor to watch Tim. I need to make sure he won't try to do anything stupid."

"Yes, Father. Alfred is on his way now."

"Good. Both of you come to Stage B now." At that, Bruce cut off the signal, focusing entirely on Dick.

"It's okay, Dick. You're going to be okay," he soothed as the young man groaned again. He remained on the floor, supporting his son as the spasms subsided and as the young man took large breaths of air. Bruce smoothed back Dick's black hair away from his sweaty forehead. Dick's eyes fluttered as he remained in the throes of unconsciousness. He panted heavily, the seizure taking its toll on his weakened body.

Bruce turned as the sound of two sets of approaching footsteps got closer. The two men stopped in shock as they took in the sight before them. "Jason, I need you to go let Alfred in. Bring towels with you too." Normally, Jason would be indignant over being ordered around. However, at the sight of his older brother, he swallowed his pride. Nodding, he raced back the way he came, his footsteps rapidly receding. "Damian," Bruce said, snapping the youngest Wayne's attention back to him.

"I need you to help me move Dick. When Jason comes back with Alfred, we are going to need to take him back to the cave. Can you do that?"

"Yes," Damian responded.

"Good." Bruce glanced at his biological son. The youngest Wayne was taut, fear for his brother all over his face. They both looked at Dick, who seemed so pale, so scarred, so...broken. As he sat on the stage floor, it suddenly hit Bruce. With what he gathered from Dick, he could finally begin to piece together what exactly happened to Dick. They could begin to piece Dick back together with what they could salvage. It would be slow, and Dick may never be the same, but it was something they would be willing to do. As he peered at his son's pain-filled face, Bruce could feel a hot ball of hate swirl in his stomach. He would find Deathstroke, and make him wish he had never been born.

* * *

 **AN: Well, what do you think? This has been sitting inside my head for _weeks._ It feels so good to finally put it down so you guys could enjoy it! I promise all will be explained! Until next time!**


	16. Determination

**AN: Look to the bottom for my note-I know you've waited a long time for this, so I won't hinder you any longer!**

 **Disclaimer: Do I have to repeat myself? I own nothing.**

* * *

 ** _Wayne Manor  
5:00 A.M.  
A few hours after Dick's collapse..._**

"Tim. _Timmmmmm._ " A deep sigh. "Timothy Drake, you need to wake up."

A stern woman's voice echoed throughout the soothing darkness. Tim, comfortably swaddled in the depths of nothingness, groaned at Barbara's voice, wishing to submerge himself once more. "Just a few more minutes, Barb."

"Sorry Tim, but a 'few more minutes' are a luxury you cannot afford."

 _Damn._ At the subtle mention of the concussion, the barely noticeable throb in the back of Tim's head grew into a full-blown migraine. He moaned softly, slowly blinking his eyes open. The room was dim, a lamp illuminating the area at a tolerable level of light. The third Robin looked over to his right, catching Barbara's nervous expression.

"How long have I been out?" Tim questioned, slowly sitting up in bed. He hissed slightly at the jostling of his bruised body, Barbara offering a guiding hand from his bedside.

"At least eight hours. You lost consciousness when you arrived at the Batcave and have been under ever since. Alfred said you woke you briefly as he treated you, but you almost immediately lost consciousness again."

Tim, having little recollection of his arrival at the cave, nodded slightly. In his dazed state, he could not discern why Bruce and the rest of the Bat Family were leaving him behind with Alfred. However, he soon forgot his confusion as he was swept into the darkness.

"Thanks, Barb."

"It's nothing. Here," she said, striding towards a fridge, removing an ice pack. Turning towards Tim, she tossed him the cold object. "For your face. You need to reduce the swelling."

At the mention of his face, Tim placed a tentative hand on his cheek. There, under his fingers, he could feel the swollen flesh and slight heat. He pressed the cold material into his face, the freezing surface slowly beginning to soothe the fevered flesh beneath, bringing relief.

"So," Tim began as Barbara watched him, "what did I miss?"

She froze, but only briefly.

"Not a lot." She wrung her hands, slightly avoiding Tim's gaze.

Tim gave her a wry look. "Like what?"

"Uh, well-" Barb opened her mouth to say more but stopped as the door creaked open. The two turned their heads, Tim's eyes widening slightly at the arrival of their visitor.

"Alright, Four-Eyes, shift's over. I'll take it from here," prodded Jason. When Barbara refused to move, Jason softened his gaze. Minutely, he gestured his head towards the door. "It's fine. I got Timbo, you go see him."

Barbara flushed slightly but nodded. Meeting Tim's confused face, she jutted her chin towards Jason. "He'll explain everything." At that, she stood, grabbed her shoulder bag and hoodie off of the back of the chair, and exited without a word.

Watching Barbara leave, Tim felt a sense of unease ripple through his core. "Oh great, now I have _you_ as my babysitter."

"Trust me, Timberly, I am as thrilled about this as you are. And to think, I was planning my recommended four hours tonight."

Tim scoffed. "So, what's going on?"

"You missed a lot of shit," Jason commented, pulling Tim from his reverie.

"So I've heard. But so far, I don't know what that _shit_ is," Tim retorted, screwing his face as a wave of pain passed through his skull. He hissed as he pulled the ice away, Jason taking a seat next to him. Jason hummed sourly.

"I might have to say that it's an improvement," Jason said, pointing a finger and gesturing to Tim's face. Tim sent a confused side-glance to Jason. Letting out a small snort, Jason grabbed a mirror out of his pocket. He held it out to Tim, who took it with a questionable expression on his face. "What? I have one in case I need to look around a corner and don't want to get my head blown off."

Tim snorted, rolling his eyes. "Yeah, because that's a perfectly reasonable explanation as to why a man has a mirror in his pocket." Jason merely flipped him the bird.  
Holding up the mirror, Tim could see what Jason what talking about. A bruise stretching the entire length of his face was ghastly, a swath of blue and purples blended together, forming a path from his hairline to just below his jaw. Intermixed on his face were a few small cuts, already scabbed over and some minuscule bruises. "And I thought it was my smooth complexion and dashing good looks that drew everyone's attention," Tim breathed, lowering the mirror and placing the ice on his face once again.

Jason reached out and pocketed the mirror. "Well, you should see the other guy."

"Dick," Tim stated, his mind struggling to retain the memory of their encounter. When Jason nodded, Tim asked the one question he had been dying to have answered: "What happened?"

"Well, long story short, Goldie kidnapped your ass off a rooftop, sending Demon and Bruce to find you, got his ass whooped, was placed in an isolation cell at the Studio, somehow managed to break out, escaping into the stages, confronted Bruce, and proceeded to have a grand mal seizure."

Tim's throat went dry. Heart thudding in his chest, his concussed mind tried to wrap his head around the news Jason had just delivered. A seizure-Dick had never experienced one (to Tim's knowledge). To Tim's knowledge, there was nothing in Dick's medical history or physical assessment to suggest a seizure were to happen. The two young men sat in silence for a few moments, each examining the other.

"How long ago was this?" Tim finally rasped, swallowing to wet his mouth.

"Just a little over three hours ago."

Tim's thoughts were racing now, analyzing everything he knew about neuroscience and Dick's health. His head ached, protesting, but he ignored the pain. "Where is he now?"

"He's at the Studio with Bruce, Alfred, and Leslie."

"Where's Damian?"

"At the Studio, beating himself up. After all, it's twice now that Dickiebird got the drop on him."

"Did they perform a CT scan? Blood work?"

"I don't know. I left right after Leslie showed up."

"I need to get over there. Right now." Tim placed the ice down on the bed and threw back the covers. Swinging his bare feet onto the floor, he prepared to stand. However, his body had other plans. As soon as he placed weight on his feet, the room began to sway with dark spots covering everything.

"Woah there, super genius," chided Jason, who was at Tim's side in a second, steadying the teen.

"Let me go, Jay. I need to help."

"You're on a one-way path to destroy your remaining brain cells. And I hate to tell you, pal, you don't have many left after your concussion." A withering glare was Tim's only response. Jason, barking out a sharp laugh, helped Tim sit back on the bed.

"I need to get out of here, Jay. I've been on my ass for too long."

"Leslie, Bruce, and Alfred can handle it, Tim. They've seen worse."

"Yeah, but what if they miss something? I need to make sure that every base is covered. We can't lose him again."

At that, Jason truly looked at Tim Drake. Although the cuts and bruises marred his face, he could see the fierce determination lining the younger's face. However, something else was emerging behind the hard exterior- _fear._ He hadn't known about Dick's disappearance until recently, which had spared him from the stress and toll of the uncertainty of Dick's fate. Whereas, with the teen sitting in front of him, he could see how he had held out as long as he could but had nearly given up hope, before having it return to him once more. Now, that newly rekindled hope was in danger of being snuffed out for good.

A throaty sigh passed his lips. _God, I'm getting soft._ Wrapping a supportive arm around Tim's shoulder, he guided the teen to a stand. "What are you doing?" came Tim's incredulous question.

"What does it look like I'm doing? I'm getting us to the Studio. It's all hands on deck, and last I checked, you said you were ready to go."

Tim let out a small chuckle. "Jay-"

"Shut up. Unless you have something important to say, I don't want to hear any bullshit from you."

"I have one question-how are you going to deal with Bruce?"

 _Shit._ "I'll cross that bridge when I get to it. Let's just focus on getting you out of here."

Tim grimaced as another wave of pain passed over him, but he stifled the groan threatening to escape. Gingerly, he felt the bandages around his ribs and shoulder, satisfied with how they were holding. Turning to look at the floor, he concentrated all his energy on putting one foot in front of the other without passing out. As they reached the door, a thought popped into Tim's head.

"Jason, before we leave this place, I have one request."

"What's that, Egghead?"

"Get me a phone. There's someone I need to talk to."

* * *

 **AN: Oh boy! Tim, "who ya gonna call?" (Hint: unfortunately, it's not the Ghostbusters)  
And it's SO good to be back! Sorry for the delay with the chapters and updates. In all honesty, I lost a little steam with this. I didn't want to post mediocre chapters for you guys and make you feel like I was just BS-ing my way through this. So, I had to step away from it for a little while and mull over where** ** _exactly_** **I wanted this story to go. I won't be posting every week, but I will try to not have such a long gap in between updates. Also, if you guys want to input any ideas for characters, plot, etc, don't be afraid to PM me! I'm always open for new ideas or angles! So thank you again to all my followers for being so supportive and patient! Until next time!**


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